Sam's Poetry Journal
by InsanityIsClarity
Summary: Sam's thoughts and feelings as she goes through everything from the first day of fifth grade to meeting Tucker and Danny for the first time. (Poetry included, but the majority is written in prose.)
1. August 27th and 28th

**AN: Here is the 5-day-awaited Sam's Poetry Notebook. Now, I know Sam may seem a bit OOC at the beginning, but you have to remember, this was is four years before the start of the series. She will become the Sam that we are used to in time. On that note, I hope you guys enjoy chapter 1!**

**DISCLAIMER (this goes for the whole fic): I don't own Danny Phantom.**

Sunday August 27th, Summer before 5th grade:

Okay, so I'm not sure exactly how you start a journal like this, so I'll just do my best. I'm going to call you Journal, okay? Okay. May as well start out by saying how I came about writing in you.

I love my parents. Always have, always will. But lately they are starting to get really annoying. Or maybe it's just me, I don't know. Purple has always been my favorite color, and if they ever let me trade out my glasses for contacts, even my eyes will become purple. My parents were always fine with me wearing purple, until about a month ago. They started talking about how girls should wear pink and act ladylike. Newsflash! I'm ten years old, not a lady. Not even close.

So now I'm wearing pink all the time. But that really doesn't explain why I'm writing in you, does it, Journal? Well, I looked up 'I hate pink, and am being forced to wear it by my parents, what do I do?' on google. I found a bunch of links to Goth related websites. Now Goth culture has always interested me, for some absurd reason, so I looked up how one would become a Goth.

The website I was on said all this stuff about wearing black and dying your hair black (mine already is) and wearing black make up (which I have vowed never to use, make up is for idiots.) and a bunch of other stuff I would never get away with. So, after reading through the entire list, I found the most doable thing for me. A journal/diary full of your thoughts and darkish poems.

And here I am now, writing in a black notebook, the day before fifth grade starts. I still haven't written a poem, guess I'm feeling uninspired. What to write about, what to write about…. I've got it! Watch out world, here comes Samantha- Sam if you want to live to see another day (wow, I'm already getting good at this threatening death thing!)- Manson's first poem!

What to write, what to write?  
My mind is a blank slate right now.  
Find a topic, find a topic,  
Something I must first do.  
No ideas, no ideas,  
My mind is blank.  
But I guess a blank slate  
Can be considered as beautiful as a filled one.  
For while a filled slate has beautiful words and pictures,  
A blank slate has potential.  
What to write, what to write?  
The possibilities are endless.

And you, Journal, with your empty pages upon empty pages, are my blank slate.

The possibilities are endless.

Signed,

Samantha Manson.

**oOoOoOo**

Monday August 28th, First day of fifth grade

So, I'm writing my second entry on the same page as my previous one. Why? Because paper Is a valuable resource and should not be wasted! Plus, I want this journal to last for a while. I'm going to use all the room on every page front and back until there is no more room.

So today was the first day of fifth grade at Amity Park Elementary Academy, one of the two elementary schools in Amity Park. Bad news? I'm still going to this stupid rich kids school. Good news? There is only one middle school in Amity Park, and it is a public one. Thank goodness.

And the other good news is that all of my classmates don't know how rich I really am. They just assume I'm going to this school because I live closer to here than the other school. Not that anyone has ever asked me about it. People generally don't talk to me here.

Not like I care though. Another Goth page I read this morning said that Goths are apathetic- meaning that they don't show concern or enthusiasm for anything- and are happy as outcasts. Not that I needed much help being an outcast or apathetic for that matter. I already was fairly ignored at this school because of what my apparent anger issues. And I was happy being ignored. After all, if you look in any movie, any TV show, there's always an outcast. At Amity Park Elementary Academy, it may as well be me.

So, all in all, my day was pretty good. Fifth graders get two lockers, so I have enough room in there for my three mini recycling bins. I keep them in there because, for some reason, our school doesn't have a recycling system. So I take it upon myself to recycle as much as I can fit in the bins and take them home every day with me to recycle there… my parents are also ultra recyclo vegetarians, probably one of the only things we have in common. Well other than our last name.

And here I am now, writing in you, Journal. Now all that's left is to write a poem. Here I go!

Life's a play  
We all have a part.  
Everyone in life must assign  
Themselves a role  
In this show  
This show we call life.

Someone has to be the good girl  
Someone has to be the bad dude.  
Someone has to be the victim.  
Someone has to be the savior.

Someone's got to be the shy guy.  
Someone's got to be the queen bee.  
Another somebody's got to be the outcast,  
And that somebody may as well be me.

The outcast.  
The role I've assigned myself.  
The one who doesn't want to fit in.  
The one who's usually ignored.  
The individualist,  
The independent one.  
Someone's got to play that role.  
And it might as well be me.

Not a bad poem, if I do say so myself. Can I say so myself? I don't know…

Either way, signing off,

Samantha Manson.

**AN: Hope you liked this! Remember to leave a review, they are greatly appreciated!**


	2. August 29th

**AN: And here's chapter two! Now some of you might notice that Sam meets Danny and Tucker in at least the second grade in the show, and meets them in the sixth grade in this story (Thanks to LunaTheBlackWolf for pointing that out to me). I have changed the time they met in this story, meaning it is slightly AU. Hope you guys don't mind and enjoy the chapter!**

Tuesday, August 29th, 5th Grade

Car rides with you.  
The sky is a mixture of orange  
And purple and blue and pink.  
The radio is playing softly  
Some oldies station.  
And we talk, you and me.  
And I have never been more relaxed.  
No pressure, just driving.  
No faking, just talking.  
No hiding, 'cuz there is no need to.  
I'm perfectly relaxed  
For the only time ever  
When I'm on a car ride with you.

And no, that is not some sappy romantic poem, for your information! That is a poem about car rides with my uncle. I swear, Uncle Jem is the only one who really listens to me. My classmates don't notice me, my teachers are too busy, and I'm ashamed to admit that lately I've actually been getting scared of talking to my parents. Every time I even bother with saying 'hi' to them, they start talking to each other- as if I weren't even there- about ways to make me appear more ladylike. Well, you know what? I think that's sexist!

Sure I'm a girl, but that doesn't mean I have to love the color pink. That doesn't mean I should be graceful and gentle! And I most definitely will NOT learn how to cook! The only time I've even attempted cooking, I was trying to make myself some cookies, and let's just say, a lot of ingredients were wasted.

But back to my uncle. Every Tuesday, I have guitar practice (did I mention that I'm learning how to play guitar? No? Well I asked for a guitar for my 10th birthday, but my parents said no. If I wanted to learn an instrument, I could learn the flute or the piano. Sexist, I say, sexist!

Anyways, somehow my uncle Jem heard about my request and when he showed up at my birthday party (the family one my parents force me to have each year. Although I'm not exactly a people person, I usually don't mind the annual celebration just for the fact that I get to see my Uncle Jem.) he had a beautiful acoustic guitar in hand. While my parents were opposed to me learning the instrument at first (why? I have no idea…), Uncle Jem can be pretty persuasive, and they eventually relented on the agreement that he would take me to my lesson each Tuesday afternoon after school.

I've had five so far (today's included), and I'm really enjoying the weekly time with my uncle. At this time it's almost a tradition. He picks me up in front of school in his jeep, the hood down so that the wind blows in our hair. I climb in the car, putting the guitar case I was carrying with me in the back seat. He usually already has the radio on to an oldies rock station. While I generally don't like romantic music (I prefer rock), oldies romance songs and oldies rock songs (which are also played on the station) are admittedly great.

As soon as I get in the car, he will ask me how my day went. I will tell him, sharing how we are starting to study the revolutionary war in history and the cool abstract drawing project drawing we're doing in art. I will repeat his question back to him, and he will say his day is great. He never really says more about his day, but he is a generally quiet person so I don't push.

He's been especially quiet since my Aunt Julia's death two years ago. Before Aunt Julia died of lung cancer, he was always joking and laughing. And she was always right alongside him, laughing at his jokes and cracking some of her own. They were the world's most perfect couple. And then she died.

And people wonder why I'm an antiromantic! Okay, so no one really cares about me to wonder why I don't believe in love (or really to know that I don't), but I don't. True love is very rare. And those who are lucky enough to possess it end up being the unlucky ones- having their time together cut tragically cut short. IT'S NOT FAIR! Why should couples who argue and squabble all the time get to stay together in misery while the only people I ever knew who were truly in love got their time together shortened by fate? Why?

But I'm getting off track. After we exchange our question, we usually won't talk again until we get to my instructor's house. Instead, we will sing along to the radio. Every once in a while he will ask me if I know who sang/played a certain song. I never will know and or remember who the artist is, so he will tell me. It's actually quite impressive how much he is able to remember.

Once we get to my instructor's house, I will get out of the car, and he will drive off, promising to return in thirty minute's time. After 30 minutes of plucking my way through a fairly easy song, he will pick me up, and we will head over to the Nasty Burger, per tradition. I will order a salad and he will order a nasty meal. While we wait the few minutes for our fast food to come out, he will usually take out the crayons and placemats they set at the table and start drawing something. I will follow suit, although my drawings are never nearly as good.

When we finally finish our food, we leave the restaurant (go figure) and he will drive me home, sad that the night is over and looking forward to next Tuesday.

I love Tuesdays.

Signing off,

Samantha Manson.

**AN: Welp that's it for chapter 2, remember to review. Thanks**


	3. August 30th

**AN: I know I haven't updated recently (by this story's standards), but here I am! And I have with me… FIVE ALL NEW POEMS! Enjoy, everyone, enjoy**

Wednesday, August 30th.

Hey Journal. I don't really have a lot to say about school today, outside the fact that it sucked. But that's normal. So if you don't mind, I'm just going to write a few poems on how I feel about middle school in general. Kinda like a rant, in a poetic form. And here I go!

Every single movie cliché  
Out there says  
That the jocks bully the nerds.  
That the nerds are innocent.  
This is somewhat true.  
The jocks bully the nerds.  
But the nerds shun the outcasts.  
And the outcasts mock the jocks.  
For five days a week, 7 hours a day,  
Until at the end of the day, the final bell rings.  
Then we all go home  
And come back the next day  
We arrive, and the jocks bully the nerds  
And the nerds shun the outcasts  
And the outcasts mock the jocks  
To school we arrive  
And the vicious cycle returns.

That poem was just kinda what I've learned from watching. I observe my classmates because I really don't have anything better to do. And I've found that while the jocks bullying the nerds is the stereotypical form of mean, there are other forms. And each form is just as damaging. We outcasts don't like being ignored all the time. Sure we like it a lot of the time, but no one wants to live in complete solitude, including me.

I know I am guilty of mocking the jocks from time to time, but usually I do it when they aren't around. Not the same can be said for some of the other "unaccepted" kids at my school. (Why don't I hang out with them, if none of us are accepted by society, you ask? Simple answer: they are creeps. Enough said.) And don't let them fool you, the jocks actually don't like their reputation as arrogant jerks. In all actuality, half of the jocks are just athletic kids who want to play sports. The other half are the ones that bully the nerds and act all cool. But the first half isn't too bad (even if they are pretty clique-y) and they don't like it how they get the same bad rep as the other half.

So, yeah. That poem was basically about things I've observed. Here's another poem- a slightly more angry one.

Their laughter mocks me  
Their happiness makes me bitter  
What did they do to deserve joy  
When I wallow in eternal misery  
They laugh at a joke  
How can they make a joke right now?  
How can they act so normal  
while my world is upside down  
Then again, they never cared about me  
Or my hopes and dreams  
And here I sit embittered  
While once again they laugh.

This is pretty much what happens when everyone is laughing at a stupid joke while I'm having a terrible day. Okay, so I might've exaggerated a little, but you get the point. And why was my day so bad, you ask? Truth is, I don't know. I think my teenage hormones are coming in early, cuz any slightly annoying thing REALLY irritated me today. Topped with the fact that I had a headache today, let's just say I was not in the best mood. The only reason I actually survived was that I kept writing poems on small slips of papers during my classes. Here's one I wrote in English.

I rarely get dreams during the night.  
However I daydream constantly  
I dream of a world unseen  
I world unknown even to me  
I admit some of my dreams are conceited  
If some saw them they'd think I were arrogant  
But I can't stop dreaming about something better  
Than this pitiful existence I live in now  
The existence in which I live  
Yet I don't live, not really.  
I just make it through the day  
Thinking about reality as little as possible  
While my mind is far away  
While I'm dreaming my dream.

I honestly have no idea where that one came from, but it sure fits me. I guess. Anyways, here's a poem I wrote in History class. It's really short, but I honestly think it is one of the best poems I've ever written. Even though I've only written 7 poems thus far- including the one I'm about to share.

You all live such perfect lives  
And even my best lies  
That tell me mine will be okay  
Aren't quite convincing me today.

Simple but deep, in my opinion. But then again who cares about that? I might just be being conceited, might just like the poem because I wrote it. But I still think the poem is good. Does that make me conceited or proud of my work or do I just like the poem as a poem? I don't know! I never know, and I probably never will. And, in all honesty, not knowing is what bugs me most in life.

But enough about my internal crisis. I've got to push it to the back of my mind or else it will consume my thoughts and eat me from the inside out. I know this from experience. So change of topic!

The best part (and only good part) of my day waking up early enough to see the sunrise. I wrote a poem about that too .

As I look out the window  
I see the green ground below.  
I watch the sky dance  
With the soft colors of a sunrise  
The pinks, yellows, and blues,  
fly over the beautiful green.  
And create a view like no other  
A view of the early morning.

And that, dear Journal, was my day. In poem form. And now to turn this relatively bad day around, I'm going to go visit my greenhouse. See ya later, Journal!

Till next time,

Sam Manson.

**AN: Hope you enjoyed. Remember to review- they are greatly appreciated!**


	4. September 15th and 20th

**AN: Today I have something special for you guys! While most of my previous poems have been written by me recently, ALL of todays are some of the first poems I've ever written (although the first one is slightly tweaked)… in the sixth grade. Will they be kinda stupid? Probably. Will they provide better insight as to what a fifth or sixth grader might actually write? Probably. So, enjoy!**

Friday September 15th

Hey Journal. Sorry I haven't written in you in a while; I've been busy. Lately it feels like everything is changing. Literally! And what, you might ask, is changing?

Grandpa Manson died. Next to my uncle Jem and Aunt Julia, he and Grandma Manson were my favorite relatives. Now Aunt Julia is dead and Grandpa Manson is with her. Course Uncle Jem is my mom's brother and Grandpa Manson was my dad's dad, but still. And it's hitting Grandma Manson hard.

So hard that she moved in with us. Don't get me wrong, I love having my grandma living with us. I just wish it wasn't because her husband died and she doesn't want to be lonely. Not to mention, she's not exactly the same as she was before. I feel myself becoming more dark just by being with her. Guess all I can do is to be there and hope she reverts back to her old self eventually.

So yeah, it seems like it's the end of the world as I know it. Yet I feel fine. (Kudos to you Journal, if you got that reference.) Anyways, on to poetry.

I'm proud to be me  
But should I be?  
I'm not close to normal, and I'm okay with that  
But parts of me could be classified as bad  
A lot of times I'm not so nice  
And you shouldn't really take my advice  
I hold grudges long  
And I thing I'm strong  
I'm okay being Sam  
But what if being Sam is being bad?  
Does that mean I'm proud of my imperfections?  
Do I even want to fix them?  
Should I accept my flaws?  
Or should I try to be a better person?  
Should I be myself or be more like you?  
I'm so confused.

That poem describes my latest internal conflict. It all started when I realized that I was proud of being me- faults and all. But should I be proud of my faults? Am I being cocky, or happy with who I am?

She thinks I'm boring.  
He thinks I'm annoying.  
They think I read too much  
And that I should just shut up.  
But out of it, all I can see  
Is all that it will ever be:  
A difference of opinions.

See? There is that cockiness again. Grrrrr….

I think I'm going to go do some music therapy now.

Headphones, here I come!

Signing off,

Sam.

PS: Not Samantha, not anymore. Everything is changing, so my name might as well too. Anyone who calls me Samantha after this, watch out!

PPS: Wow, I really am getting better at this Goth stuff. Just kinda sucks that part of the reason I am becoming more Gothic is because my grandma is depressed.

oOoOoOo

Wednesday, September 20th

I am more complicated than you could ever know.  
There are more parts to me than those that I show.  
So don't try to write me a synopsis,  
When of me, a lot is  
Hidden from your view.  
I may seem weak, but I am strong,  
I may see strange, but I belong.  
I may seem dumb, but I am smart,  
I may seem rude, but I have a heart.  
So before you think bad of me, search me entirely through.

Ok, so you might've guessed, but I'm in a good mood today. And good moods mean happy poems. Which are pretty rare, and I'm fairly sure that Goths are supposed to write happy poems, but the internet also says that Goths are supposed to defy the stereotypes, so I will. And I bring you a happy poem… written by a Goth in training.

If I start to sing a song  
And no one dares to dares to sing along  
I will sing just as strong  
All by myself

If I do a random dance  
And they give me a funny glance  
I guess I'll have to take that chance  
And applaud myself

If I say a bad rhyme  
And they think I have lost my mind  
I'll find a new one for next time  
All by myself!

If I act plain silly  
And they see me disapprovingly  
All the sillier I will be  
All by myself!

If they think I'm doing not so well  
And offer me some help  
I'll say I can do it just as swell  
All by myself!

One sec, Journal, my parents need me. Be right back!

oOoOoOo

Okay, I'm back. And I think I might be able to deliver that stereotypical Goth poem now. My grandma was sad, my parents are mad, and now I'm both. But anyways, here's my poem.

Forget I ever said anything, cause if it was important you'd listen.  
Forget I ever said anything, cause if it was important, you'd remember.  
Forget I ever said anything, cause if it was important, you'd care; you'd care.

So just forget I said I wanted you to stay. Just go way; go away.  
Cause it's obvious you don't care for me. Now I see; now I see.  
But don't expect me not to make a comeback.  
You didn't hurt me all that bad.

Maybe I'm still in pain.  
But it can go as fast as it came.  
So just forget about me, I couldn't care less.  
If you moved on, it's for the best.

So that isn't exactly how I feel about my parents or grandma, but when I get angry/sad I can make my poems as depressing as I want, no limits. And I do.

Signing off,

SAM!

**AN: I hope you enjoyed that! I can honestly say I'm glad I'm no longer in the sixth grade. Remember to review- more reviews means faster updates!**

**Signing off,**

**INSANITYISCLARITY!**


	5. October 17th

Thursday, October 17th

Today was a good day.

It feels like everything that could go right did. We got no homework in any of our subjects, the new salad bar opened up today at lunch. And we started our track and field unit in gym. (I refuse to call it PE, because that stands for physical education and they haven't exactly educated us yet.) I like running, and am admittedly pretty good at it.

The only thing that was better than being able to run for 15 minutes straight was watching everyone else wonder how I got so fast… even the football players (who keep bragging about their first year of tackle… Ok, you can charge into someone… not very impressive in my opinion, but that's just me…) couldn't keep up with me. I'll have to try out for the track team next year at my new school (Amity Park Elementary only goes up to fifth grade).

When I run, I feel like I'm flying. Leaving earth behind me in favor of going somewhere higher up. The wind rushes past me, and the track around me starts to blur. It's just me and the vast expanse of blue above me.

On another note, today in English we had to read our what-we-want-to-be-when-we-get-older essays we've been writing of the past week in front of our class. I honestly thought that fifth graders would be more mature, but I was wrong. Either way, it was fun to laugh at how stupid some of the essays were.

Half of the guys said they wanted to be football players. A lot of the girls said they wanted to be models. Some of the nerds said they wanted to be authors or inventors. I said I wanted to be an activist. That I wanted to help people and animals get their rightful rights.

"So, like a superhero?" my teacher asked me.

I was never into comic books or superhero movies. They just seemed so… unrealistic. How a person could juggle to identities is beyond me. Plus, I find when I read stories heroes, be them military, civilian, or super heroes, I find myself longing to be a hero.

But I will probably never be one. Or, at least in society's view. I will probably never save a life, I will probably never be selfless enough to sacrifice myself for someone else, and I will never have super powers. I'll be lucky if I even know a true hero before I die.

"No, not like a hero. An activist. As in fighting for people's and animals' rights. I'm not going to be a superhero."

"You want to fight for other people… and animals… who can't fight for themselves. Sounds like a hero to me."

Maybe it did sound like a hero. But sounds like and is are two different things.

I will never be a superhero. But I do want to help people. I want to make a difference… a positive difference. Even if it is a small one.

And maybe then I'll be a hero, maybe one day I'll save a life. Or help save a life. Maybe I'll change someone's life for the better.

I sure hope so.

Oh wow. I went from talking about track and field to making some sappy statements about being a hero.

But it's true, someday I WILL help someone. Someday I'll be a hero.

No I won't! How could I make a difference? I'm an anti-social, trying-to-be-apathetic aspiring Goth. Doesn't sound like someone who could help someone.

Anyone can help someone. Maybe I will prevent someone from doing something dangerous by saying something nice to them. You never know.

Oh come on, Sam! When was the last time you said something nice to someone? I'd be more likely to say something to make that person do something crazy, knowing me.

Then I guess I'll just have to be nicer to people!

Being nice gets you hurt. Being kind gets you walked on. Being hopeful just makes the disappointment when what you hoped for doesn't happen even worse.

But… but I can try! And sometimes what I hope for happens.

Rarely. Just don't hope for a lot, and I'll be fine.

But hope keeps us alive!

These are the types of internal conflicts that ravage my head all the time. To hope or not to hope… that is the question. Sometimes I wish I truly was apathetic. Then I wouldn't have to deal with this crap.

But then I wouldn't be able to feel any emotions, including the good ones. Like happiness or peace.

As is, I'm rarely happy. And apathetic people are always at peace.

I HATE ARGUING WITH MYSELF LIKE THIS! I don't like fighting with myself…. No matter which side wins, I always lose. Plus its somewhat weird to be writing out an argument between me and myself. Oh well. I've got bigger problems.

Like the fact that I can never come to a conclusion about my feelings. Usually I just stop thinking about it before I get myself too confused. Like right now. I'm going to stop thinking about this in 5… 4… 3…. 2… 1!

Ok! But like I said, other than that internal debate I just had, today was pretty good. Although I still have to write a poem…

They always told me  
"Don't let others get you down."  
They always said,  
"Don't let them get into your head."  
Well that's great and all  
And thanks to them I don't care  
What others think of me,  
But I can't help to think, that they were wrong.  
They told me to not let them get me down.  
But they didn't say anything about me hurting myself  
They didn't mention I'd be fighting my worst enemy  
And now I'm fighting me.  
They said that guarding myself from others made me strong,  
But they were wrong.

Well, that was deep.

Time to think about something else!

See ya later, Journal,

Yours truly,

Sam.

**AN: And that was that chapter. Sam's internal battle? Yea, that has basically what has been going on my mind since I started watching cartoons with super heroes in them. Well, I'm going to make like Sam and think of something else, so don't forget to leave a review and I'll see you soon!**


	6. November 13th and 16th and December 12th

**AN: Today I also bear you guys a gift: Instead of the one or two journal entries that usually get put into a chapter, today I bring you three! Kind of like triplets! Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy and happy Valentine's Day (AKA Happy Anniversary-of-a-Roman-Priest's-Execution-Date Day)! And remember to leave a review**

Tuesday, November 13th

Hello Journal. So I know I'm only writing in you about once a month. Sorry, but I've been busy. I'll try to write more often, but I can't promise anything.

So lately I've been reading a book about a person who is forced by an insane person to live through his worst nightmares. Eventually he lives through all of them, and gets out of the fear world and goes after and kills the maniac. But I've been thinking, if I had to live through my worst fears, what would I have to live through?

Let's see. My fears from least to greatest….

5) I'm afraid of being helpless. I'm afraid of someone needing help and not being able to help. Worse yet- being the 'damsel in distress.' Why can't there be a 'dude in distress'? If I were in the fear world, that fear would probably be manifested in me having to watch someone get hurt.

4) Pain. I'm not afraid of death. I'm afraid of being in excruciating pain and having to survive through it. I don't even want to know what that fear would look like in the fear world.

3) Maturing. Yes, I'm afraid of maturing. I don't want to have to grow up and be responsible. I don't want to have no time for doing the things I love. In the fear world, I'd probably have to be a mature, busy adult going through her midlife crisis.

2) Solitude. While being by myself is relaxing and happy sometimes, if I'm by myself for too long, I go slightly insane. I'd probably be stuck in an all-white room with nothing to do.

1) Change. I'd probably have to go through a world where everything I loved was either gone or distorted.

But that's depressing, and today was a pretty good day. It was a Tuesday, after all.

Fears  
I'm afraid of being helpless  
I'm scared of pain and of maturity  
I wish not to be in solitude  
And I wish not for things to change  
I don't want to face my fears  
But I know someday I will  
And when that day comes  
I will face them head on.  
Because everyone is afraid,  
But not everyone can conquer their fears.

Signing off,

SAMMMMMMMM

**oOoOoOo**

**Friday, November 16****th**

Hey, Journal, I'm writing in you twice in one week. Aren't you proud of me? And what, you wonder, is the cause for such a rare occurrence? It's because today I witnessed a national phenomenon!

Okay, so there's this really loud kid in my class named Cade. He is always talking, making jokes, or just being loud. While I do admit that a lot of times he is funny, and he does break up the monotony of school, sometimes it can get a bit too much. And he never stops!

So today my parents forced me to go a fifth grade girls basketball game so that I could "socialize with the other spectators my age." They didn't even go with me! Anyways, I was sitting by myself as far away from everyone else as possible, and I looked around at the crowd. There was Cade, sitting silently- not even cheering when the team scored a point- by himself- no parents or friends- watching the game.

My theory? He has a façade. He is not always loud and over the top; sometimes he is quiet, and he has to be loud when he is because he feels the need to compensate for the times he has to be quiet and or has no one to talk to.

Absurd theory? Definitely. Possible? Definitely.

Masks.  
Who are you,  
Underneath your exterior?  
Are you really who I think you are,  
Are you really as you appear?  
Is your mask a subconscious one,  
That even you don't know is there  
Or did you make it yourself,  
So that others don't know you care?  
Are you hiding what's inside,  
Or are you hiding your situation?  
Do you want others to find the real you,  
Or is there no way one earth you'll let them in?  
I get why you would and I get why you wouldn't  
But I can't help but doubt that I'll ever get you.

And that was that.

Signing off for now,

The one and only Sam

(P.S. Actually there are millions of Sams, but pretend that there aren't, ok?)

**oOoOoOo**

**Wednesday, December 12****th**

My mother called me a demented psychopath today.

She asked me to smile for her, and I did, a big smile, and she called me psycho!

I'm fine with being called introverted, strange, unusual, and even crazy, but not demented, and definitely not psycho. If you're introverted, strange, unusual, or even crazy, that means you have at least some control over your actions. A demented psychopath doesn't.

And I have perfect mental health. Just because I'm a girl who doesn't like girly things, a fifth grader who's a pessimist, and a child who has reconciled herself with death, that doesn't mean I'm psycho. That doesn't mean I'm demented. I'm not a demented psychopath right?

I don't wanna be a demented psychopath…

Call me crazy  
Call me insane  
I don't care,  
I don't feel a thing  
I have perfect mentality  
Maybe even better than perfect  
Just cuz I'm not normal  
Doesn't mean I'm not right in my head.  
I can be different  
And still be perfectly sane,  
Just you watch me!

Signing off,

Sane Sam.

**AN: And that was that. I will admit that those poems aren't my best, but I still think they are okay… right? Anyways, leave a favorite, follow or review. They are greatly appreciated!**

**See you next time!**

**Signing off,**

**Sane InsanityIsClarity**


	7. January 3rd and February 19th

**Thursday, January 3rd**

When I get older, if I get married, I think I want to get married in an ivory dress. Not even I would wear a black dress at a wedding, but I wouldn't wear a white one. White symbolizes purity, perfection, a promise of perfection. A promise of something unachievable. Ivory, is still somewhat pure, but not completely. A hope for perfection, but not a promise. I could try ivory.

Then again, maybe I don't want to get married. I've been growing up in a home in which it is strictly set that the man is in charge. I can sometimes see why it would be nice to have one person in charge, I just don't want that for me. And yet, I always grew up that way. But I'm starting to question it. And no one is answering my dang questions!

So do I follow my parents, trusting tradition, or do I forge my own path, hoping desperately that I don't fail? Right about now I've just been pushing the thoughts of marriage, dating and the like to the back of my head. I know it can't stay in the dark recesses of my mind forever, but I'll keep it there as long as possible.

Do I trust what I have always known,  
What I have always seen  
As I have grown?  
Or do I trust myself,  
With my interesting ideals?  
Are they right or wrong?  
Some around me say they are wrong,  
And others tell me that I am right,  
So should or shouldn't I fight  
For my ideals?  
Are my ideals idiotic or revolutionary?  
Am I being stubborn or a visionary?  
To follow tradition would be simple  
All I have to do is follow those before me  
Or I could blaze a trail, hoping I'm not heading for a cliff.  
Do I stay on safe land or do I set sail,  
Knowing full well I'm heading into a storm?  
Is going into the unknown brave or idiotic  
I'd ask you for your opinion,  
But then I'd be back to where I was,  
Indecisive.

Indecisive.  
Don't have an answer  
Not quite yet  
Everyone confuses me,  
With all their voices in my head.  
How do you expect me to answer  
If you keep shouting at me?  
Can't concentrate, can't think  
Can't come up with an answer  
At least not soon enough.  
Indecisive.

Wow, two poems in one day! I'm so proud of myself!

Goodbye for now,

Sam

**oOoOoOo**

**Tuesday, February 19th**

I have dubbed tonight The Last Tuesday Night. Why? Well Uncle Jem got transferred. Two hours away. Definitely too far to come see me on the weeknights, specifically Tuesday. I know I should be happy that he still has a job, instead of getting laid off like a lot of his co-workers, but Tuesday night is our night.

He picks me up from school. We listen to oldies music in the car. He drops me off at my guitar lessons, then go does who-knows-what for half an hour. He picks me up. We listen to more oldies music. We eat at Nasty Burger. We draw on our placemats with crayons- his drawings purely amazing and mine... not so much. I get a dinner salad, he gets a tofu sandwich- he's the one who came up with the ultra-recyclo-vegetarian thing- every time. I get him to smile and laugh with some jokes I learn just for Tuesdays. We get back in the car and listen to more oldies music. He drops me off at home. We repeat the next week.

That's the way it's been for about four months, and we both like it that way- or at least I think we both like it that way. I'm 99% sure we both do though.

And now our tradition is ending. And tonight was the last night before he moves. Our last Tuesday night.

The radio played softer than ever before  
Commercials ran rampant on the radio.  
With the sound of an advertiser in the background  
We sat in the car in almost silence.  
It was not awkward silence, yet not completely comfortable.  
The kind of quiet that dares you to speak  
Yet makes you not want to ruin the peace.  
A song finally came on  
But unfortunately, it was not 'our' song  
I'd never heard of it, and he didn't comment  
With the title and artist as he so often did.  
The semi-silence goes on, and I looked out the window  
At the cloudy, grey bad-day-cliché sky  
Not an interesting sky like that of a thunderstorm,  
Or peaceful like that of a completely blue sky  
Nor was it beautiful like the multi-colored sunset.  
Just grey. No rain, no sun, no blue. Grey.  
Practice doesn't go very well,  
Guess I shouldn't have procrastinated  
When it comes to practicing…  
But when he asked "How did it go?"  
I lie and tell him it went well.  
When we got to the fast food place  
He doesn't draw much.  
I draw my name,  
And he watches me.  
I'm proud when he says it is good.  
But sad that he didn't draw too.  
The food comes, and it is delicious,  
However, there are no jokes,  
As I have none memorized  
And there is no laughter  
Because nothing seems funny.  
Eventually, we finished eating.  
He drove me home.  
And I waved walking up the steps  
Wishing upon stars and genies and the like  
That this didn't have to be  
The Last Tuesday Night.

What will Tuesday nights be like from now on?

Will my parents still let me go to guitar practice?

How often will I see my uncle?

These are the questions,

Sam.

**AN: Hope you enjoyed these poems/journal entries! Remember to leave a review, follow or favorite-they are greatly appreciated! And I'll see you next time!**


	8. March 22nd, April 21st, and May 29th

**Thursday, March 22****nd**

Do they not understand that sleep doesn't work on the restless soul?  
Do they not know that slumber cannot alleviate stress?  
Sleep is simply procrastination,  
Too "tired" to do it so I'll do it tomorrow.  
When I could be staying up being productive  
I'm forced to waste time in unneeded slumber.  
Stress only lifts when what is stressing you is gone,  
And you can't complete a task when you're sawing logs.  
I admit that I am tired,  
I know that I am stressed.  
But my stress would leave  
If I could just abandon sleep  
And do something worthwhile instead.

Dear Journal, lately I've gotten into the art of procrastination. And as I push everything back, the stress inside me builds. My mom thinks I just need sleep, but I don't need nor want sleep. I need more time. And what better place to get time from than from the times I "need" to sleep. And that's where we are now. Me writing in my journal by flashlight light. Still procrastinating my history homework. Oh well. I can always do it tomorrow morning, right?

Okay, I have a problem.

A problem I'll fix tomorrow.

In other news, my mom's been taking me to my guitar lessons. She still thinks that it's a waste of my time, but she says that since I started it, I should be able to finish it. And so I get to finish this year of guitar. Then I'm done, she says.

I love my parents. Okay, I try to love my parents. But it's getting harder and harder. They make me wear pink. They are taking away my guitar after this year. They are trying to teach me to act like a lady. Because that will work on me!

Well, it's 9:30 now. 45 minutes past my bedtime. Take that, parents!

Till next time,

(Now) Sleepy Sam.

**Saturday, April 21****st******

The stars in the sky leave me awestruck  
The full moon calms me  
The wind whistling through the tress branches  
Makes me smile,  
And the chilly wind feels good.  
As I listen to the crickets chirp  
And feel the dirt beneath the shoes  
I realize that I truly love the open sky,  
The stars, and the dreams.  
I love the night.

I've always kind of known I was a night person. But now I know for sure. I studied myself for fun today. I discovered I was in a TERRIBLE mood in the morning, but by the evening I was calm and happy. Definitely a night person.

Today, I have good news. My grandma showed me her photo albums today. I know it might seem like much, but considering the lady has been almost completely silent in the past half a year grieving her husband, it was great. She just asked me if I wanted to see some photos out of the blue when I got home from school. I said sure.

She pulled out this huge book of pictures of her when she was younger, her friends, her family, extended family, and even a few of her and grandpa. And she didn't cry. When I asked her if she was ok, she just told me that she had finally accepted his death. I think she's starting to move on.

I sure hope so. My grandma was a really fun person before grandpa died, and I hope she's starting to revert back to her former self. It'd make it a lot happier for the entire family.

**Tuesday, May 29th**

FINALLY!

Today was my last day at Amity Park Elementary Academy! No more private school! For sixth grade I get to go to the only middle school in all of Amity Park- Amity Park Middle. Creative name, huh?

Maybe I'll make friends. Hopefully I'll get good grades. And great teachers. And fun classes. I know my hopes are high, but hey, a girl can dream. Besides, IT'S SUMMER! A time for rest and relaxation… and going on my computer for hours on end.

Three months for working on becoming Goth. Three months figuring out how to sizzle instead of sweat. Don't ask me what that means, I have no idea. I just read it online. I have to read more! This is the summer that I go from aspiring Goth to complete Goth. And I have a plan.

1\. Save up money. Shouldn't be too hard, with my allowance. 2. Get a ride to the mall that doesn't involve my parents. 3. Get Gothic clothes. 4. Sneak them into my closet. 5. Put them in my backpack in the morning. 6. Change into them at school. 7. Change back at the end of the day.

Simple enough, right?

I think I just jinxed myself.

The hardest part will probably be getting the ride to the mall. Seeing as my parents don't have regular, normal jobs, they are at home pretty much all of the time, seeing as home is where they run the family business. Maybe I can ask Grandma for a ride…

She and I have gotten pretty close lately. Two weeks ago she offered to start driving me to my guitar lessons, and, while it was somewhat awkward at first, we had fun. Afterwards, we went home and made some homemade (soymilk) ice cream. Apparently her motto is "I can die at any time, so I may as well eat dessert first." We had dinner later with my parents, and didn't tell them about our sugary snack.

We did that this past Tuesday too. I think this is the start of a new tradition- guitar lessons and homemade ice cream- but… when I call it that I feel a little like I'm betraying Uncle Jem and our tradition. Our tradition lasted so long, and it seems rude to just replace it like that. But I think Uncle Jem would want me to have fun with Grandma, and I'm happy (and I'm sure he would be too) that she is finally recovering from Grandpa's death.

Moving On  
This doesn't mean that I'll forget you  
This doesn't mean I don't want you back  
And this doesn't change the fact  
That I love you.  
I just won't be able to love you in person.  
I'll have to live on my memories and mementos  
Instead of seeing your face in my life.  
But that doesn't mean I won't remember the fun times  
And just because I'm having fun with someone else  
Doesn't mean I forgot about us.  
It just means I'm loving you in my memory  
While making new memories with someone else.  
I'm just moving on.  
But not forgetting; I will never forget.

That poem is kinda double sided. On one hand, it's about Grandma moving on from grieving for Grandpa, but not forgetting Grandpa. On the other, it's about me remembering the fun times I had with Uncle Jem while creating new memories with Grandma.

Well, that's all for today.

Happy Summer, Journal!

See ya,

Sam.

**AN: I hope you enjoyed these poems. Reviews, favorites and follows are greatly appreciated. Until next time,**

**InsanityIsClariy**


	9. June 1st, 20th, and 28th

**Friday, June 1****st**

Wow, I'm writing in here twice in one week. I'm shocked too.

Operation Goth is underway. My parents went out for some business meeting today for a few hours, and I asked Grandma if we could go to the mall. Apparently she used to be into darker clothes when she was younger too, even if it didn't have a specific title back then. So, we went to the mall.

I wanted to go Goth, but heading straight into Hot Topic at age eleven probably wouldn't go over well. So, we started at some smaller locally-owned stores. Five stores later, I had one object of clothing- a leather jacket. I know just wearing a leather jacket doesn't make you anywhere close to being Goth, but it's a good start, especially for it only being the third day of summer.

After we got the leather jacket, we went out for milkshakes. We had fun, and I must admit that right about now my grandma is my best friend. Despite being way older than me, we have fun together and we really are quite alike in a few ways.

It feels like sometimes all I need  
Is to be near someone who's similar to me.  
Someone who proves I'm not all that strange,  
Or someone that shows me that weird is good.  
I already knew that weird was good.  
I already knew that I am weird.  
But sometimes it's nice not to be alone  
With my weird hobbies and style.  
And although being myself is perfectly fine  
I must admit that every once in a while  
It's fun to find  
Someone like me.

See ya later, Journal!

SAMALAMALAMALAMALAM!

(PS: That sure is fun to say aloud!)

**Wednesday, June 20****th****: **

Goth Items Collection:

Leather jacket.  
Pair of black combat boots  
Two black plain t shirts  
Six pairs of colored jeans: two black, two grey, and two purple.  
Pair of purple and black headphones  
Black mp3 player

It's not like I can use any of this stuff, minus the headphones and mp3, until school starts. Even then, I'll have to sneak it into school and change there. Hopefully someday I will be able to tell my parents about what I am doing. Maybe they'll accept me, but I'm not taking any chances just yet.

I feel as if when I was younger, in the fourth grade, I told my parents everything. Now I'm to the point that if I don't have to tell them I won't. I think most kids reach this age when they become teenagers, but with parents like mine, it's no wonder this stage came early for me.

But, unlike teenagers, I didn't come into this stage full force with no regrets (or at least that's what I think teenagers do). I still want to be close to my parents, and I still want to tell them everything, I'm just too… afraid to do so.

I know it sounds stupid, but when I was younger I had to tell my mother everything just to clear my conscience. I guess I've gotten used to not having a perfect conscience, because now my fear of her not approving of me (which isn't all that of an irrational fear: have you met my parents?) outweighs my desire for a 'clean' conscience.

I still want to have a close relationship with my mom, just like I had when I was younger, but now I know that that will never happen. Between my aspiring to be someone new, and her hating what I'm becoming, things do not look good for us.

Thoroughly depressed now,

Samantha Manson

**Thursday, June 28th:**

Automated  
Sometimes I feel as though  
I am just living to go through the motions  
I'll do the same thing tomorrow that I did today  
And the same thing I did yesterday  
I'm stuck in the never ending cycle we call life  
And sometimes I wish I was automated  
Designed to do just one job  
And not having to worry about anything else  
But I'd rather be different  
I'd rather make a difference in this world  
Then just doing average.  
So now I know I want to be extraordinary  
I know I don't want to go through the motions.  
And all I have to figure out is how.

Just like today's poem said, I don't want to be another gear in the clock, doing the same thing over and over again every day for the same result every time. I want to do something different; I want to turn the figurative clock into time machine, unpredictable and epic.

But I'm an incoming sixth grader, an aspiring Goth, and virtually friendless. Literally no one listens to what I do say, and those that can hear me ignore me. What can I possibly do?

I've had this argument with myself many, many times, but it keeps coming up in my head. I think it is because I never get an answer to my question; I can't find a conclusion no matter how hard I look. The only relief I can get from the subject is from forgetting.

I find that the only way I can cure the funks I find myself in is either forgetfulness, which I don't want, or forcing myself to believe that I will, that I can, make a difference. That I can save a life. Just one life, or maybe even starting a chain reaction that saves a life, and my life has a purpose.

Are people born lucky? Is it by luck that I was born into the United States instead of some poor soul in currently living in a third world country? What is his or her life like now? Would she or he have done more good for the world if she or he was born here instead of me?

Well now I am thoroughly depressed.

Guess it's time to force feed some happiness.

Hello, music.

See ya later,

Sam.

**AN: Okay, that was kinda sad. Really sad. I can't believe I wrote that. Well, remember to review. And favorite and follow. Guess that's it. See you guys next time!**


	10. June 29th (TRIGGER WARNING!)

_**TRIGGER WARNING: TALK OF (BUT NOT ACTUAL, OR PLANNIG OF) SELF-HARM AND SUICIDE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK?**_

**AN: Hello readers, as you might have guessed, for the summer months, every chapter will be a month. That being said, I'm postponing what I was going to write (July) in favor of addressing an important issue. Self-harm. Now, I myself have never self-harmed but I do have a friend who has done it before. And it accomplishes nothing but making you- and the people around you- more miserable. DO NOT SELF HARM. LIVE.**

**Sam will not self-harm or commit suicide in this story (or in any story of mine), but she will talk about the subject. In case this wasn't obvious, I DO NOT ENCOURAGE SELF HARMING OR SUICIDE… and neither does Sam. But, I guess I have to put a TRIGGER WARNING or something on this because it will be mentioned.**

**SELF-HARMING AND SUICIDE NOT ONLY HURT YOURSELF, BUT THEY HURT THOSE AROUND YOU. IT IS TRULY A LOSE-LOSE SITUATION.**

**Enjoy?**

**Friday, June 29****th****:**

My mom keeps telling me how all of life is choices. That I'm at the point in my life where my choices define me. The age of accountability. She makes it sound like I'm a fence, one wrong choice and I'm down in the dumps, and one right choice and I take another step towards the edge of the fence- towards death. But really, with every right step only comes the obligation to make another right step. Its either be perfect for the rest of my life or make one mistake and mess up my entire life.

Honestly, it kinda scares me. What if becoming a Goth makes me truly apathetic, and I become the Hitler of the future World War III? **(AN: I don't support Hitler either, FYI)** One mistake and I end up killing and hurting tons of people? But then my parents' idea of perfect is a lady in a pretty pink dress who is optimistic and kind.

But what if I'm already hurting tons of people? What if my sarcastic comments are slowly wearing people down? What if they take my insults to heart?

Nah, no one really cares what I say. Or what I do. Or about me at all. They never have and never will. Dang, now I sound like a basket case. The usual self-harming teen. But I don't self harm, and I'm eleven years old!

Besides, I've reconciled myself to no one caring. Okay, now I'm just lying. Everyone has SOMEONE who cares for them; and I've got my grandma. Besides, I don't care about those people, so why should they care about me? Expecting them to care about me when I don't care about them is hypocritical.

I don't get self-harm. Maybe it's because, like I said, I'm only eleven, and nothing truly terrible has happened in my life yet. I don't get bullied (just ignored), I'm happy with who I am (possibly a little too much) and what I look like (minus the clothes my parents make me wear). So it's understandable that I don't get self-harm. But even realizing some of the crap people go through, I still don't get why people self-harm.

Maybe it's just me. I've said before that I'm not afraid of death (although I'm not suicidal either. I'm not afraid of death, but life is WAYYYYY better.) but I'm afraid of painful life. And being the cause of something I'm afraid of happening to me is terrifying. The closet I'll ever get to purposely hurting myself is the occasional head bang on the wall.

Maybe people self-harm because they need to feel numb. I know that if I bang my head on a wall a few times (when I'm especially frustrated) I feel a little numb. But that's just be because of a mini concussion. I get how you would feel numb from a mini concussion (I couldn't think), but slitting your wrists? How does that make you numb? I think it'd sting. Bad.

And why are people suicidal? I've seen stuff online: "I have nothing to live for!" I want to just scream at them! Ask them, "And what do you have to die for?" You die, you're done. Gone from this world, its game over for you. At least when you're alive there is hope for a better day. There is no hope when you're dead, BECAUSE YOU'RE FREAKING DEAD.

Suicide is selfish. The way I see it, when you can't live anymore for yourself, when you yourself have no reason to live, you have to live for others. You have to live because others don't want you dead. You have to live because if you die, you leave someone else lonely. When you have no reason to live anymore, then it's not about you anymore. It's about others.

But then, that's me talking. Selfish Sam. Hypocrite Sam.

But you know what? I'm going to be selfish if one of my friends (not that I have very many, but I'm hoping that with a new school, I'll find one) wants to commit suicide. I'm going to be so selfish that I want my friend so badly that I won't let them leave me. They don't get a choice. They're staying.

Why should you live?  
You should live for tomorrow morning,  
You should live for your favorite food.  
You should live to hear your favorite song again  
Or maybe to make a new friend.  
That was cliché.  
But you should live through today.  
You should live so you can see the summer  
You should live so you can cuddle up during the winter.  
You should live so you can see the sun rise,  
You should live so you can watch the stars at night.  
You should live for what and whom you love  
You should live for your family.  
You should live for those who love you.  
So you should live for me.

Okay, that was probably one of the best poems I've ever written. And now I'm bragging.

Till next time,

Sam.

**AN: I hope you guys enjoyed(?). Remember to leave a review- they are appreciated. IF YOU NEED TO TALK ABOUT ANYTHING… PM ME. I've been lonely…..**

**See ya in a little while with a hopefully happy chapter,**

**INSANITYISCLARITY**


	11. July 1st, 5th, and 27th

**AN: You guys have probably heard the whole "I've been so busy" speech from many authors. But seriously. In the past week, I've had testing, got 10****th**** place in a county spelling bee, watched Not What He Seems, went roller skating, to a basketball game, a scholastic bowl tournament, youth group, and had homework and piano. So sorry for not updating. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy! Sorry again for the late update, and remember to leave a review!**

**Sunday, July 1****st****:**

Okay, so I read through this journal. Here are some things I noticed:

Over time, I've started to like my parents less and less.

I've went from just researching Goth stuff, to having my own (albeit small) collection of Gothic stuff stashed in the back of my closet.

I've become more apathetic while becoming more thoughtful. I feel hurt, and feel remorse, and think things through (too much sometimes), but I'm getting better at not showing my emotions. Well, besides happiness. I still show happiness. And anger. And a little joy. And very few times I'll show sadness (in the form of long silences). So, in reality, I guess I'm not very apathetic at all…

I've made two traditions: Tuesday nights with Uncle Jem (I still miss those) and Tuesday nights with Grandma (which lessens the hurt- I'm not apathetic!- of losing the previous tradition a little).

I'm a hypocrite. On November 13th I wrote that I was afraid of change, but on June 28th, I said I wanted change. I guess I'm afraid of change, because in theory, change takes everything we've ever known and completely warps it. But it doesn't. Most huge changes come all at once, they sneak in in parts, so that your mind subconsciously knows that they are there, and yet you don't really think about them all that often.

On June 20th, I forgot to write a poem. Oops.

I didn't mention my 11th birthday (June 23rd) at all. It went pretty good. I got an ultra recyclo vegetarian (although my parents refer to it as vegan. I don't know why- you can say it both ways and ultra recyclo vegetarian sounds so much more cool) friendly cake. I also got some pink dresses (yay) that will meet my (new) black spray paint (I got it yesterday) ASAP.

I'm really getting sick of being the "chaos in the family." It's like whenever something goes wrong, it's my fault. I will admit that sometimes it is my fault- sometimes on purpose and sometimes accidentally-, but a lot of times it isn't

Mom and Dad get in a fight over some adult thing, and it's my fault, because my negativity put them in a bad mood. I say something sarcastic, and suddenly those two can't go on their anniversary dinner. I close a door harder than I meant to and suddenly I have a delinquent attitude. Seriously: I AM NOT THE CAUSE OF ALL THE EVIL IN THE WORLD!

I try to forget about all of their comments, because I end up depressed if I don't, but it's hard. I don't want to be this evil human being who causes everyone's misery. I want to be myself: not a goody two shoes, but not _evil_, just me. But when I forget their comments, then I mess up again, because I don't care enough to get better.

I don't want to be perfectly good.  
Good has too many restrictions,  
You have to perfect all the time  
And a good role model too.  
But I don't want to be bad,  
Bad people hurt others  
And I really don't want to cause someone pain.  
But if I'm not good, and I'm not bad,  
Then what am I; who am I?  
I want to be a real person,  
A person who tries to do good things  
But messes up on occasion.  
A person who changes the world for the better  
Yet isn't the poster person for kindness either.  
I don't want to be perfectly good,  
And I don't want to be bad,  
I want to be me.

And that was that.

Bye for now,

Sam.

**Thursday, July 5****th****:**

Yesterday was Independence Day. I love the Fourth of July: freedom and fireworks for the win.

Colors light up the sky.  
Not like the waves of sunrise  
Or the hills of the sunset  
Or the calm swoosh of the rainbow.  
Fireworks are anything but calm,  
Bursting into sky in bouts of color  
Never boring, never calming.  
It's always a surprise to see what's next.  
Huge and sparkly, they are anything but discreet  
They are noticeable and exciting,  
Appealing to everyone, especially me.

That's all I have for today.

-Sam.

**Friday, July 27****th****:**

Goth collection:

Leather jacket (made with fake leather, of course)  
Combat boots (two pairs)  
3 black plain t-shirts  
8 pairs of colored jeans: four black, two purple, and two grey  
Purple and black headphones  
Mp3 player  
Black-with-silver-spikes bracelet

It's coming along nicely. The new bracelet I made yesterday with some extra fake leather I found in a pocket in my jacket (I don't know why it was there)and a glue gun. It wasn't all that hard. I just glued two ends of the 'leather' together than glued some plastic spikes (not huge, but noticeable spikes) I found in a craft store on. 

Inventing me.  
Who am I?  
Am I a stereotype,  
An archetype?  
An original or a copy?  
Sometimes it seems like  
That my main mission in life  
Is simply finding me.

Identity crisis much, Sam?

Oh well,

See ya,

Sam… or is it?

**AN: Thanks for reading! Once again, sorry for the late update-I try to update this story weekly. I hope you guys have a great week, and reviews, favorites and follows are greatly appreciated! And GF fans, Not What He Seems was epic. And I didn't even believe in the Stan twin theory. But back on topic. Thanks for reading and see ya next week!**

**See ya,**

**InsanityIsClarity… or is it?**


	12. August 5th, 16th, and 27th

**AN: Hello peeps! This will be the last chapter before Sam meets Danny and Tucker… the wait is almost over! Well, enjoy the chapter. And don't forget to review!**

**Sunday, August 5****th**

Okay, this is one of those good-news-bad-news situations. The ones where the bad news completely cancels out the good news, and then some. The good news: My parents signed me up for a poetry contest at the local library (although they still don't know about you, Journal). The bad news: they keep talking to me about writing a beautiful poem about nature, or an element in nature.

Death is an element of nature, but I don't think that's what my parents meant. But the poems aren't due until August 20th, so I've got some time to figure out what in the world I'm going to do. Until then, I'll just write the poem I would've liked to send in in here.

Nature.  
The birds sing  
Yet one day they will be silent  
The tree branches sway,  
But one day the tree will wilt away.  
To make room for a new generation  
The old generations must die  
It's the natural order of life.  
Death is as natural as birth.

Morbidly me,

Sam.

**Thursday, August 16****th**

I've got the poem for the contest written and sent in.

The bird sings  
And tree branches sway  
A new generation is born  
After the old one has gone away  
Life springs forth out of everything.  
Birth really is beautiful.

Sappy and full of pretty words- exactly what I was going for. I showed it to my parents, and they were pleased.

Sometimes I disgust myself. I try so hard to be confident in being me, but even I know that I mess up. A lot. And some of the things I say are really, really mean. And I don't care that I am being mean, which is what truly bothers me.

It's like I don't even care about anyone but myself. I'm selfish, reclusive, jealous, and a hypocrite. I hide by myself, but get internally sad that no one ever talks to me. I'm jealous of what others do, yet brag when I do better than them. I am a hypocrite in every meaning of the word. I want friends, but I probably don't deserve them.

Honestly, I always think of myself as this great person. But I'm really not. I'm generally polite, but I'm never kind. I can be peaceful, but the sometimes I get really angry. I can be funny, but my sense of humor is morbid, and it leaves people questioning their existence a lot of times.

I really should be a nicer person. But something tells me it'll be a lot harder than I'm assuming.

Why do I say the things I say  
Knowing perfectly well that they are mean  
Why am I so rude to everyone,  
Why must I hurt others feelings?  
Why must I do what I do?  
Why must I be me?

Bye Journal,

Sam.

Tuesday, August 21st

**Monday August 27th**

So I've been writing in this journal for a year. Happy birthday, Journal!

Well, I've got the results from the poetry contest. I got fifth place… out of 7 people. Apparently that was really good to my parents, so they bought me a fruit smoothie. At least something good came out of this.

I start middle school in 7 days- September 3rd. I've read about middle school in books and online. Apparently it's supposed to be pure torture. At least I'm not a fancy private school (with uniforms, ugh) anymore. Still, wish me luck. I'll need it.

I have to say, I'm nervous as heck. I've heard tons of horror stories about the place, and quite honestly, I'm not sure I'll survive. Or if, when I get out, I'll still be me. From what I've heard, these next three years will either make me or break me, rhyming intended.

I know that if I just stick to the shadows and don't get involve, that I'll be fine. But I don't want to be just fine. I want to participate. I don't want to spend more years as the creepy goth wallflower. I want to make friends, live a life. Not just survive, but thrive. Rhyming intended!

And yet I can't shake these feelings of petty nervousness. What if my classmates don't like me? What if I have no friends? What if the teachers are too mean? What if the work is too hard?

What if I die from exhaustion because all the teachers are cruel dictators and all the students are heartless jerks?

Okay, that last one I just wrote to show myself that I will be fine. As long as I don't die, I will be ok. I'll cross all the other bridges when I get there.

Why am I nervous?  
Why am I scared?  
I'm never nervous  
And am scarcely scared,  
So why now?  
Why am I now feeling this way?  
Why am I now getting all jittery  
Over something that's not a big deal anyways  
Is it normal to feel this way?  
But I'm not normal!  
So why am I so frightened  
Of something so common as school  
Maybe if I pretend I'm not nervous,  
My nervousness will go away.  
Hopefully.

Maybe if I deny what I'm feeling, the feelings will go away?

Wish me luck,

Sam.

**AN: Thanks for reading! Reviews, favorites, and follows are greatly appreciated. And wish me luck in my life too please!**

**InsanityIsClarity.**


	13. September 3rd

**AN: Hello my peeps! (And yes, I do mean the sugar-coated marshmallow peeps. I WILL EAT YOU ALL!) I've been grounded for the past 3 days, and I can honestly say that it is good to be back. I actually wrote the first part of this chapter the old fashioned way- with paper and pencil. Coincidentally, this was how The English Assignment got started- me, grounded, bored, and with paper, a pencil and an idea. AAAANYWAYS, enjoy the chapter!**

**September 3****rd****:**

Right now I would say 'forget life', but in all honesty, life is the forgetter and I'm the forgotten. But forget life anyways.

Middle school, so far, is terrible. I've made it halfway through my first day and so far middle school is just like elementary school. But at least my plan of sneaking in darker clothes worked. Now I look like a rock and roller instead of a fairy princess. So that's at least something.

But even with the awesome new clothes, I'm still the quiet wallflower and right now I'm eating lunch by myself. So much for making friends…

I just heard a crash And then there were running footsteps. And now there are two out-of-breath kids sitting across from me. I should probably stop writing and find out what the heck is happening.

Hey Journal. I just got back home from school. And I think I now have to acquaintances in middle school. Maybe even friends.

So it turns out that the two boys who almost crashed into my lunch table were running from Dash and Kwan, two jerks from my private school. Luckily, they never really talked to me, like everyone else. Looks like they've found their new target. It's a shame too- the two kids, a Tucker Foley and a Danny Fenton, seemed like nice enough kids.

After losing Dash and Kwan- nothing can deter a middle school boy quite like a lunch line- and collapsing across from me, Danny and Tucker were literally too exhausted- they'd been slammed into lockers then chased halfway through the school, or so they told me- to get up. So they stayed.

Tucker, after catching his breath, introduced himself right away. He, apparently, is a "meat connoisseur"- basically, he eats a lot of meat. Being an ultra-recyclo-vegetarian, I naturally found it disgusting. But other than that Tucker is a pretty cool guy. He knows a lot of technological stuff, which is pretty cool. He's even learning how to hack stuff from his PDA, AKA his "baby." I think he's just as much of an aspiring techno geek as I am an aspiring Goth.

Danny, in a direct contrast to Tucker's openness and talkative nature, was generally quiet. After Tucker introduced himself, Danny introduced himself. But he did it to the bare minimum, saying hi and his name was all. And he practically whispered what he did say. I think he's just shy.

After Danny gave his brief introduction, we fell into an awkward silence. Wanting desperately for it to end, I suggested they go get their lunches, as they hadn't eaten yet. Taking my suggestion, they did. But instead of going to sit somewhere else afterwards like I thought they would, they came back and sat across from me again. Even more shocking, I think it was Danny who suggested they did so. Maybe he's not as shy as I thought.

In the 20 minutes that followed, I learned that Danny and Tucker had just met each other in their first class this morning. None of us really knew anything about each other. But in those 20 minutes, I learned quite a bit.

Danny's parents are scientists, and he lives in that one house with the Ops center on top of it. (I was wondering what was in there, but I never would've guessed that it was someone's house.) He didn't say what kind of scientists they were though, instead telling us that he himself wanted to be an astronaut when he got older. Danny's the type of kid who, once he gets used to you, is quite talkative. But he was still pretty quiet, and I didn't miss the slight stutter in his voice.

Tucker was even more of an open book than Danny was. All you had to do was ask him a question and he'd be off on some sort of a tangent. If any other person talked as much as he did, I'd find it extremely annoying, but because Tucker talked about interesting stuff, like video games, music, and technology in general, it was fun to have a conversation with him.

Forget what I said earlier. I don't just have two acquaintances in middle school, I have two friends. We even have all but two classes together!

It feels good to have friends. It really does. For the first time ever, I'm looking forward to going to school tomorrow.

First there was one,  
Just me alone.  
Then it happened and suddenly  
There were three,  
Him, him, and me.  
Now I'm no longer by myself  
And I don't know how I feel about this.  
It was a sudden change  
As everything I knew got rearranged.  
Before, no one talked to me;  
I was alone and less than happy.  
But it was normal and normal was safe,  
Safe were the ways of yesterday.  
But now you're here and all that has changed;  
Nothing now will ever again be the same.  
You've taken me out of my comfort zone,  
But I suppose that is better than being alone.

Day one of middle school: complete.

**AN: BOOM! Sam met Danny and Tucker. What will happen now? Will Sam survive Middle School? (Jk, we all know she survives!) Will she be the same person when she gets out, that's the real question! Is Paulina to make an appearance? Where is Grandma Manson? What will happen next? Seriously, you guys give me some ideas! Reviews, favorites, and follows are, as always, greatly appreciated! Have a nice week and I shall see you all next week (or whenever I choose to update next)!**


	14. September 6th

**AN: Hello party people! Welcome back for chapter14! In case you guys haven't matched up the dates with the days of the week yet, this story takes place years ago. In chapter 1, it was 2000. After January hit, right before chapter 7, it turned 2001. So just keep that in mind, because I will try to stay historically accurate in this story.**

**Thursday, September 6th**

The only way to see the sunrise is to lose sleep.

Sounds kind of like a quote, doesn't it? I just came up with it! It's got both literal and metaphorical meanings, and I'm so proud of myself.

The literal meaning is how I came up with the quote. Now, I consider myself a night person, but even I enjoy seeing the sunrise, when I'm awake to see it. But it seems the only times I see the sunrise is when I pull an all-nighter and get no sleep at all. (I pull all-nighters when I either can't sleep or I can't put down my book.) When I do stay up, seeing the sun rise in the morning is amazing.

The metaphorical meaning is pretty much that if one wants to see or make something beautiful occur, one must be prepared to make a sacrifice.

Just fifteen more minutes  
Becomes just one more hour  
Just one more page  
Becomes one more chapter  
The clock counts up  
My sleep level counts down  
As I draw closer to sunrise  
And further from sundown  
Hours of darkness tick by  
Until finally there's a little light  
I watch the sun rise  
I watch the end of night.

Anyways, today was the fourth day of school. Things have been going surprisingly well. I still am sneaking clothes into school and changing into the bathroom, so now I kinda look like a cross between a Goth and a rock star (I haven't gone full Goth yet) instead of a stuck up princess.

And then there's Danny and Tucker. I admit that I was a bit hesitant to make friends at first, but they wore me down. How? Sitting next to me at lunch, and in all the classes we have together, which is everything except writing class (I got moved up into 7th grade creative writing after they read the story I wrote for young authors last year) and health class (for obvious reasons).

They were persistent. Not in the super annoying way, but just always there. And soon I started going out of my way to be near them too. They eventually cracked me. Although eventually in this case is three days.

On a completely unrelated note, we're at the age when everyone starts having crushes on other people. I think it's stupid. Everyone goes around whispering and gossiping about how they love this other person. But really, we're eleven. WE DON'T KNOW LOVE! We know puppy crushes, and we know secrets, and we know how to like how a person looks, but we don't know love.

And yet I stand a hypocrite, because even I hope deep down that someone has a crush on me. I don't particularly care how I look- as long as I look ok- but even I kinda want to be seen as pretty. Not pretty as in the, her makeup looks amazing way, but pretty in the her eyes are beautiful way.

I do love my eyes. Purple eyes are fairly rare, and no, they are not contacts. In the right light they are a lilac purple, but in a different light they can almost look blue violet. And seeing how purple is one of my favorite colors, I like my eyes. Or maybe I like the color purple because of my eyes. But I'm getting off topic.

What is a crush? Is it thinking a guy looks cute, because I'll admit, there are quite a few cute guys in our grade. Is it liking a guy with a good personality? Because Tucker and Danny both have great personalities. Is it subconscious and you can't control who you crush on? Do you know your crush by how you get nervous around them? But I don't get really nervous around anyone.

I don't know, which is why I don't think I have a crush on anyone. I could, but because I don't know what a crush is, I can't tell you if I have one or not. Maybe what a crush is depends on the person. Then what is a crush to me?

SNAP OUT OF IT SAM! You do not need to have a crush, you do not need to have someone crushing you, IT IS NOT NECESSARY.

And now I'm talking to myself. I'm right though, I don't need a crush to be happy. Just friends. And I have friends… I think. Stop being so pessimistic, Sam. Of course I have friends.

I talked to myself again. And I wrote it down. Am I going insane?

Anyways, as I was saying, I have friends. And I have a feeling that this year is going to be a good year. Or at least I hope so.

Another year rolls around  
I've had this feeling of hope before  
Every year at the beginning  
I think it'll be amazing  
I've been wrong a lot before  
My instinct isn't the best  
And yet here I am again  
Hoping that this year will be better  
And the hope brings happiness  
I don't regret the hope  
I will probably regret the hope later  
This year probably won't be any better  
But it just might be  
And the hope is back inside me.

**AN: I know this chapter was a bit short, but I hope you enjoyed it anyways! Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated. And I already have a plan for the next chapter, and left a few hints in here, so leave your guesses in the comments! I bet none of you will guess it. Seriously. Good luck and have a great week**

**InsanityIsClarity**


	15. September 11th

**AN: Hey everyone! Congratulations to FallingNarwhals for being the first and money73 for being the second to guess my plans for this chapter! By the way: I have a surprise for you guys! All I need you to do is comment your favorite DP character in the reviews… you'll see why! Enjoy the chapter…. I guess.**

**Tuesday, September 11****th**** (2001):**

I don't even know where to begin. Today was crazy. Insane. I guess I should start at the beginning.

I was in school, per usual. It was about 9:30 so I was in math class, in a seat next to Tucker and two seats away from Danny (whom I now refer to as my two best friends). The teacher got an email… his eyes widened and he made quick but purposeful to the computer in the back of the class. Gesturing for us to come to the computer too, he opened up the internet and went to some news website.

We all watched and listened as a news reporter stood in front of video feed- live- of the twin towers collapsing. The reporter talked about how two planes crashed into the twin towers. As the minutes rolled by, the entire class was silent watching. After about 10 minutes of watching footage from New York, the video changed, and we were looking at a burning pentagon building.

We watched the news reports for about 30 minutes before Mr. Maher turned off the screen. We were all still looking at the screen, even in its blankness, too stunned to do anything else. The minutes of eerie silence finally ended when we heard the sound- I can't exactly describe it- of an airplane. We all rushed to the two windows and we saw it, a lone airplane in an empty sky.

All us sixth graders were confused as to what was happening, because the reporter had said that now all airplanes in the country were grounded, but Mr. Maher told us that there was one plane that could still be in the air: Air Force 1, the president's transportation.

We didn't know where the plane was going, or what it was doing over Amity Park, Illinois, but that was probably the only time in my life that I'll see Air Force 1.

Which only served to add more surrealism to what had happened. We had talked about Pearl Harbor a little in history class, and it was hard to wrap my head around why Japan would do that. But I mean, at least Japan wasn't completely a coward. They started a war, and then they fought to the very end. These attacks, also unprovoked, were just worse.

And these attacks, right now, aren't just being read from my history book. They are on the news. This is right now, not 60 years ago. This is… unbelievable.

HOW COULD ANYONE DO THIS? If you're gonna commit suicide, kill yourself. Don't take others down with you! And if you want war, declare war for pete's sake!

But if it's one thing I learned from learning about Pearl harbor, it's that the U.S. doesn't take these types of attacks lightly.

How could anyone do this?  
Why would anyone do this?  
All this devastation,  
All this destruction  
Caused by just one person…  
All the lives lost  
Because of one decision  
All the families broken  
Because of one.  
Why would anyone do this?  
How could anyone do this?

Sam.

**AN: I know this chapter is really short, and I'm sorry. I did try to make it accurate (yes, Air Force 1 did fly over Illinois), and I hope I did well. 9/11 was a true tragedy, and I don't even know what I can say more than that. It was wrong. Just wrong. Anyways, remember to comment your favorite DP character, and I'll try to get the surprise done by next Friday!**


	16. September 18th

**Tuesday September 18****th**

Dear Journal,

It has been a week since our nation got shaken by a horrible tragedy. We are all, every person in this country old enough to comprehend what has happened and what is happening, still shell shocked. Out of the rubble came 23 survivors, and we now know the story of the brave passengers that prevented a fourth plane from crashing into a building. New air travel laws are already being put in place- nothing will really every be the same again in the United States, or even the world.

And yet, in terms of school, things have pretty much returned back to normal. We're a sixth grade class in the Midwest- we aren't as connected as we would be if we lived closer to the crash sites. We are still connected, being fellow Americans, but life goes on and school, unfortunately, goes on. There really is only one major change- when we say the pledge in the morning, we all somehow say it with more respect.

This whole ordeal has made me realize something. And question another something. Those people who died? They didn't deserve to die. They had thoughts, opinions, ideas, lives, families- things that shouldn't have been taken away from them. Their voices shouldn't have been silenced, their families shouldn't have been ignored.

No one should be ignored.

So why do I ignore others' opinions of me? Why don't I even try to be nice to them? I mean, I believe that my opinions matter, because everyone's opinions matter, and yet I completely ignore other people's opinions.

Caring too much what other's think of you is a big problem. It makes you a pushover desperate for other's approval. But caring too little, as I now am starting to see, is also a problem. If you care too little, then you become mean, vicious, ruthless, because you simply don't care how people see you.

I've noticed this before, and have written about this before, but in the terms of my parents. Now I'm looking at it in terms of my peers. Should I dislike the "girly girls" because their opinion differs from mine?

It's a dilemma to be sure. I guess I just have to be nice to everyone, no matter what their opinions. But I'm not very good at being nice. But I guess I have to try to respect others' opinions, if I want anyone to respect mine and not be a hypocrite.

I hate hypocrites, and yet I'm a hypocrite for saying that. I'm either a hypocrite, or I hate myself, and I definitely don't hate myself, I'm too darn arrogant for that.

But enough self-analysis. It's time to talk about other things, because if I start self-analyzing, its hard to stop.

Danny and Tucker- I never thought I'd say it- I hoped but I never really thought for sure- that I'd have friends in middle school. But I have found that I do. And too super good friends at that. Tucker- the computer genius, Danny the science whiz, and me, not too bad myself, better than average at English, good at math. We make quite a trio: the techno nerd, the shy awkward one, and the almost-but-not-quite-there-yet-Goth.

I've noticed some things about those two- being the silent observer for many years on end does have some perks. For one, Danny is a volcano waiting to erupt. I've noticed how he just kinda takes the abuse Dash- and sometimes- Kwan give him and oftentimes Tucker. I think he's a bit too soft-spoken and/or anxious and/or scared to speak up against him. And talking to adults around this place is practically impossible- they'd never believe Danny over Dash. But Danny can't remain impassive and unresponsive forever- someday dormant has to become active.

I've also noticed that Tucker sometimes gets a little melancholy, not unlike myself. I guess there's only so much rejection the poor guy can take- from the girls he's tried pre-flirting with, from the teachers he's tried to impress, from the peers he's tried to get to at least recognize him. Someday, he as well will explode. He will demand respect, instead of begging for it. And anyone in his way had better watch out.

But those are just my predictions.

Scary.  
'Scary' isn't the eternally angry person  
being angry once again  
That isn't frightening,  
just predictable.  
You can expect the angry guy to be angry.  
You can deal with the angry guy being angry.  
No, scary isn't the angry guy showing anger.  
Scary is the peaceful person showing anger,  
For when the pacifist is angry,  
you don't know what to do.  
When the little kid unleashes their inner monster,  
That is unpredictable.  
What do you do with the angry pacifist?  
You can't quite them.  
When a peaceful person is angry,  
it is usually for a good reason.  
You can't quell them,  
For they have the strength of self-control  
Coupled with pent up bitterness  
that has probably been building for some time  
Oh no, the angry person isn't scary,  
The angry pacifist is.

That's all,

Sam. 


	17. October 1st-21st

**SORRY ABOUT THE ERRORS. THEY ARE FIXED.**

**AN: So I haven't updated on here in a while. I've been grounded. But now I'm not grounded. I'm back, and so is Sam. And so I bring you, Chapter 18, Three Weeks Grounded.**

**Monday October 1st, Day 1:**

Dear Journal,

I got grounded. For a whole week, no TV, no friends after school, and no computer or MP3. Talked back against my mom, then argued with my dad about talking back. So stupid! They just don't get it- I can't live up to their expectations. And I know what they're expecting of me. They told me so. They told me who I was when I was younger, when I was 6 and 7. How I was so full of wonder and curiosity. How they want that girl back. But I can't even remember that girl, much less be her! What do I do? HELP!

Wish me luck,

Sam.

**Tuesday, October 2nd, Day 2:**

Dear Journal,

I am admittedly nervous to write in you today, mostly due to the fear that what I write in here will only prove what everyone around me already apparently believes to be true: that I am evil. I do not want to be evil, and sometimes I get the hope that I am truly a good person, but soon enough that hope is shattered.

I have read stories about those who take a hit to the head and forget who they are. I wish that would happen to me! To not remember my anger, or hurt, yet retain my personality seems like a dream. Without all of experience clouding my mind, and without preconceived anger and hurt dictating my action, I might finally be me in my purest form. And then maybe I and others would both find that I am not evil.

But then I, in truest form, might truly be evil. Without my memory reminding me of those I love an without reasons for my (admittedly low) self-control, I might truly be a horrible person. I hope not.

In other news, I got in another argument with my parents and am now grounded a week and three days.

Sam.

**Thursday, October 4th, Day 4:**

I'm now grounded for a week and five days. GRRRRRRR.

Sam.

**Saturday, October 6th, Day 6th:**

Its two weeks now. And I've stopped caring.

Or at least I hope I have.

Sam.

Tuesday, October 9th, Day 9:

Two and a half weeks.

I want to not care, but I'm so angry. I find that I'm angry a lot. At least I still see Danny and Tucker at school. They're the main reason I have any sanity left at all.

**Monday, October 15th, Day 15:**

Dear Mydol Pain Pills,

I have used you on leg cramps and stomach aches before. Now let's see how well you work on emotional pain. Don't worry, Journal, they won't kill me. All they'll do is put three cups of coffee's worth of caffeine in me, so maybe my thinking won't be as straight, but still straight enough. I'm sure you'll do fine, my friends, either by numbing my mind with caffeine or sleep depriving me to the point of numbness. Why might I need you, you ask? Well for months my mom has been telling me how sick she is of my behavior towards her and my dad. And for the first time, I see her point of view. I am a horrible, selfish person. And I am so sick of myself right now. Hence I need to numb my brain. Thank you for your service!

Sincerely,

Sam.

**Wednesday, October 16th, Day 16:**

Dear Journal,

The Mydol pills did work. I'm grounded for three weeks now, although being grounded really isn't as bad as everyone makes it out to be. All you have to do is forget that you are missing whatever it is you are missing and remember what you do have. I miss looking up dark poetry online, so instead I have been writing my own not-so-dark poetry. I was missing my music, so I pulled out a CD player and listened to some oldies music. I'll include some of my poetry in here.

Sometimes it's best not to ask questions,  
Out loud or in your head.  
Sometimes the answer isn't so easy,  
And some things are better left unsaid.

I spend more time in fiction than I do in reality  
And tend to zone out constantly  
Growing up legitimately scares me  
Why be confined to maturity?  
You can enjoy the real world, as it's your home  
But I live in a world of my own.

One day, one week, one week and a day  
Add a day, add a day, never take one away  
I regret nothing but know I deserve this  
It'll end eventually, I hope  
Until then I guess it's just me and my pen,  
Grounded with only my imagination.

Not-as-angrily,

Sam.

**Saturday, October 19th, Day 19:**

Dear Journal,

I'm sick of being angry, sad, and unforgiving. I'm tired of blaming others and pitying myself when really I'm just being self-destructive. I want to be kind, to be considerate. I know it'll be hard, but with the help of God and my friends, I think I might get there someday. I didn't think I could fix myself, but now I think I might be able to. So I'm under construction. Effective now.

Wish me luck!

Sam.

**Monday, October 21st, Day 21, Final Day:**

I did change, and I haven't been grounded any more days. I get my stuff back tomorrow! I feel a lot better now that I'm not constantly angry. I don't know how long this will last, and I'm still Goth, but it feels good to be happy and I hope it lasts long. Although I know from experience that now that this problem is solved, I'll likely have another problem to deal with.

But I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

Happily,

Sam.

**AN: This was partially based off of my 19 days of grounding, that just ended Wednesday. In fact, parts of it are just slightly altered versions of a journal I kept for my self during that time. This one chapter kind of came out as a mini-story almost because it was a mini-story to me. And as Sam does when she learned to let go of her anger, I feel relatively happy now too. Plus I graduate the eighth grade tomorrow, so there's that. **

**Wish me luck,**

**InsanityIsClarity.**


	18. October 24th and 30th and November 8th

**AN: Hey everyone! I know I haven't updated in a few weeks, and I wasn't even grounded this time. Sorry. I can only hope that this chapter works out as well as I'm hoping it will. And there is a pretty heavy reference to Infinite Realms in here, so if you're missing some of this, I suggest going back and watching that episode. The link will be in my bio. Enjoy! **

**Wednesday, October 24th:**

Hey, Journal!

I'm still ungrounded, so that's good news. My anger is even lessening.

And I've got more good news! We're doing a group project in one of my favorite classes- Ancient Civilizations. And I'm partnered with Danny and Tucker. The project is simple enough: make a poster about a Roman god of your group's choice. Most Roman gods are interesting to me, from Jupiter to Mercury. But there's one that's particularly interesting to me: Vladius Plasmodius.

He is so different than most Roman deities, or even deities in ancient history at all. Myths say he showed up in Rome out of nowhere, clothed in all white, possessing fangs, and flying. The Romans hailed him as a god, and started erecting statues and everything. Then, three more strangers from a distant land showed up, two young men and a young lady. Vladius tried to feed them to the lions, but one of them was a spirit, and saved them. He then took on the form of a knight, which I didn't even know existed in ancient Rome, and challenged Vladius. Vladius was winning, but during the fight the god accidentally set the town surrounding the Roman Colosseum on fire. The people were angry, and tried to attack the god, but Plasmodius left, the spirit and his two friends soon after.

What a weird myth, huh?

But it sure is an interesting story, and with Tucker and Danny helping me, there's no way we can fail. With Tucker's resourcefulness (he can find anything on that PDA of his), Danny's artistic skills, and my work ethic, there's no way we can fail.

It feels good to be apart of a team,  
To not work alone.  
It feels good for someone to come up to me  
And ask if I'd like to join their group.  
It's much more preferable that having  
To ask for permission to work by myself  
The companionship is ten times better than silence.  
It's nice not to be alone in the corner,  
I like having friends.

That's all for today,

Sam.

**Tuesday, October 30th**

Well, we've finished our project. It looks... interesting.

I think I might have overestimated myself and my group members a bit. I have much less work ethic when I'm busy having a good time with some friends. Tucker can't use his PDA in class, so we have to look up everything in a book. And Danny is definitely better at drawing inanimate objects than he is at people.

We got a B Minus.

All three of us are straight A or B students, so a B Minus didn't make us particularly happy, but judging from Danny and Tucker's looks, they're used to getting lower-than-usual grades on group projects. I don't mind the lower grade either really. Like I said, being able to not work by myself made it all worth it.

And even if our poster didn't turn out as well as planned, I still learned a lot about the myth.

We read a more detailed version of the story and learned a few things. Apparently the spirit and the two strangers came from a "land of swirling green". I can only assume that it means Greece. And that the spirit has the power to "fall into solid objects", whatever that means.

But the strangeness isn't the only reason I like the myth. I like it because, unlike most myths, the hero- and since Plasmodius set the city on fire, I can only assume that the spirit is the hero in the story- actually has friends that go into danger with him. I mean, can you imagine having to be a hero all alone?

See you next time,

Sam.

**Thursday, November 8th**

Hey Journal,

I have a lot of deep thinking to do, and writing in you always helps me think.

So, the stereotypical middle school drama is in full swing. And because teachers don't like that crap any more than we do, our English teacher had us all write something that we're struggling with in life. Then she took all the papers and read all of them to the entire class, without telling who wrote them.

I myself wrote down 'Parents who want me to be something I'm not.'

There were a variety of answers. I'll write down the ones I can remember.

Family has financial issues. Death of a relative. Alcoholic brother. Bullying. Best friend is moving. Mom has cancer. Depression. Parents getting a divorce.

I am an idiot.

I never really thought that I was the only one in my grade that has problems, but I never thought that other people in my grade had problems this bad. I mean, what if Leah, whom I avoid because she's way too perky, is depressed? I hate stereotypes, yet I have fallen into the habit of stereotyping other people. I think that, since someone is happy and popular, everything must be great in their life. But this "experiment" succeeded, and now I need to stop the stereotyping. Stop the hypocrisy inside my own mind.

Everyone has problems.  
I never really thought about it all that much  
But I should've, I should've been less selfish.  
Everyone has their own issues they have to deal with  
Everyone has their own inner thoughts they have to face  
Everyone has problems,  
It's not just me.

Well, goodbye for now.

I have a lot of deep thinking to do now.

Sam.

**AN: That list of problems ****Sam's classmates have wasn't made up. Those are actual problems, actual people have. Maybe not that exact thing, but everyone has a problem they have to deal with. It's not just me, and its' not just you. But that's enough deep thinking for right now. Don't for get to leave a review!**

**See you guys next time,**

**InsanityIsClarity.**


	19. November 15th and 20th

**AN: Hey guys I only got two reviews on the last chapter, and with my average amount of reviews per chapter being seven, I'm kind of sad. So make me happy, and leave a review. It really does motivate me to update. Thanks!**

**Wednesday, November 15th**

Manipulative. Goodie-two-shoes. Crazy. Dark. Geek. Demented. Freak. Eternally angry. Weirdo. Loser. Evil. Insane. Creepy. Mean. Psycho. Nerd.

Some of the words are synonyms. They don't all come from the same person, but multiple people. Some are, in themselves, almost compliments, but the way they are said clearly isn't complimentary.

I try not to let the words hurt me. It's hard.

Sam.

**Tuesday, November 20th**

Dear Journal,

I think there is a time in every middle schooler's life where they start to wonder who their true friends are. And while in the friends department I really only have Danny and Tucker (but they are awesome friends, even if they can be a bit dense at times) I figured this admittedly cliché experiment was worth... well experimenting with.

And what is this experiment that has got Samantha Manson doing something she hates- being cliché? It would be the I'm-not-going-to-talk-to-anyone-today-and-see-who-talks-to-me-first experiment. It seemed interesting enough. And while I have never been particularly outgoing in the past, I haven't been completely silent. Ever.

So I tried the experiment. And let me just say, it was downright DISHARTENING. While I didn't go the day without talking, I had a total of three conversations.

1\. My math teacher asked me for the answer to a problem, to make sure I was paying attention. I might've been doodling in my notebook, but I was still listening, I promise.

2\. Tucker asked to borrow a pencil. I still haven't gotten it back.

3\. My partner in science class, a girl named Valerie (She seemed like a decent person. If she weren't a part of the popular crowd I could see us becoming friends.) kind of had to talk with me so we could work on our biome project. No, we did not get to pick our partners. Not that that was a bad thing. Danny and Tucker would have probably paired up, and Valerie isn't anywhere near the worst partner I could've gotten.

Okay, I'm really trying to be rational here. I know that Danny and Tucker could've just been busy today, or sleep deprived, or deep thinking a lot, or... or _something_. There are plenty of possible reasons why my friends (and they _are_ my friends) only talked to me today to borrow a pencil. Plenty of reasons. Plenty of reasons. There is a perfectly logical explanation.

Even if they didn't want to talk to me today, that's only today right? Maybe they had both had headaches and didn't feel like talking all that much. I'm sure we'll share a nice joke tomorrow about how they were so out of it today.

And yet it kinda hurts. I mean Tucker only talked to me to borrow a freaking pencil, and Danny didn't talk to me at all. They didn't even talk to me at lunch. Just to each other...

So what if they completely ignored me! Why should I care? I don't care. I've never needed friends before and I certainly don't need them now. I survived 11.25 years without Danny and Tucker and I can go 11.25 more!

But just because I can doesn't mean I want to...

I'm sorry, Journal, I'm being completely ridiculous! Tuck (I'm trying to get used to calling him that. I'm not really good at nicknames.) and Danny wouldn't purposely ignore me. I'm sure if I weren't so quiet they would have talked to me more. We have the best- and weirdest- conversations. Normally.

You know what I think? I think this "experiment" is flawed. Absolutely flawed. It makes it sound like people are only your friends if they talk to you while you're silent. But people know their friends. And if a person is being silent all day, they probably don't want to have a nice long conversation. So people don't talk to them for that day. That doesn't mean they aren't still friends. That doesn't mean we're not still friends.

Maybe, just maybe true friends aren't the people who will talk to you while you're silent. Maybe true friends are the people who will keep talking to you when you get insane, when you act weird. True friends are the people who, when you are crazy, are most likely crazy too. And when you're silent, well, they're silent too. At least to you.

That doesn't mean I don't wish Danny and Tucker had talked to me more today. That just means I understand why they didn't- I wouldn't want to talk to me while I'm moody either. And I certainly won't be repeating this experiment anytime soon.

Tomorrow is a new day. And I don't plan on staying silent for the rest of my life just because no one talks to me first.

I tried being silent today  
To see who'd talk to me first  
I tried to keep my mouth shut  
To "see who my real friends were"  
But my idea was a bit flawed  
And to me, no one talked  
So next time I'll start the conversation  
And we can all give our otherwise unwanted opinions.

That's all for now,

Samantha, AKA Sam.

**AN: I've found that this fanfic is just an excuse for me to publish my own diary (although I am writing this as I go along for the most part) online and get people to relate to me. Has anyone else done "the experiment"? I myself did it over a year ago... my results weren't that different from Sam's. One of my friends talked about doing it this year. I tried to convince her not to do it- as I'm trying to convince you guys not to do it. The "experiment" is truly a depressing experience. And it's hard to stay silent for a day. At least it is for me. **

**This AN has gone on long enough,**

**InsanityIsClarity**


	20. December 5th and 18th and January 4th

**AN: Sorry I haven't updated in a while. It's not that I've been busy, it's that I've been bored to the point where I stop having good ideas. Anyone else out there know what I mean? So, here's to music references your songs parents probably listened to when they were teenagers and that-could-never-ever-happen jokes. Enjoy! **

**Also, just FYI: I will be talking about Hanukkah and ****Rosh Hashanah** **in this chapter. Sam is Jewish (as seen in The Fright Before Christmas), however, I am not. (I just spent an hour researching it.) So if I mess anything up in those regards, please don't hate me, just leave a review telling me what I did wrong. I will be more than happy to fix anything and I'm so sorry if I offended anyone.**

**Wednesday, December 5th:**

Dear Journal,

Life is good.

It's December, my favorite month of the year. Hanukah starts in four days. I have two best friends, and I'm getting to be decent on the guitar (my grandma is still taking me to that and it's still fun). So there isn't a whole lot of stuff to write about. I guess I'll just tell you what's new since I've last written in here.

I got a somewhat-new CD at the mall, _The Better Life_ (2000) by 3 Doors Down, yesterday. 3 Doors Down is a relatively new band, and _The Better Life_ is their first album. I heard their most popular song, _Kryptonite_, on the radio and decided I liked it. I looked the album up online and found the other songs. And I finally bought it yesterday when I asked my grandma if we could go to the mall after guitar practice.

As soon as I'm done writing this I'll download it onto my computer and then onto my Creative NOMAD mp3 player. I heard some of the songs have cuss words in them. I'm still kinda new to cuss words, but it's not like I can't just skip the songs that have them. Though until I know which songs have them and which songs don't, there's no way I'm playing them without my headphones in. My parents would flip if they heard me playing songs with bad words in them.

I also got a Billy Joel _Piano Man_ record while I was in the music store. Yes record, as in an old record player record. I actually have a record player in my room, and I'm starting a collection of records. _Piano Man_ (1973) is the second album in my collection after _Combat Rock_ (1982) by The Clash, which I found with the record player in my basement last week.

My favorite song on Piano Man is_ Piano Man_, of course, and my favorite Combat Rock song is _Should I Stay Or Should I Go_. I know you're just a notebook, but I like thinking I'm talking to you, so Journal, do you have a favorite song? A favorite album? I have a few favorites. I also like _Silver Side Up_ (the 2001 album) by Nickelback (and reason I'm not entirely unused to curse words) and _American Pie_ (the 1971 song) by Don McLean.

But I've talked about music long enough. Now it's time for me to listen to some!

See you soon, Journal,

Sam.

**Tuesday, December 18th:**

Well, Journal, yesterday was the last day of Hanukkah. Last night Uncle Jem came over and we lit the last candle on the menorah, sang some songs, ate some potato pancakes, played with the dreidel, and handed out gifts. I had saved up some of my allowance and bought my mother a pink necklace and a matching pair of earrings, my dad a sweater, Grandma a big picture frame, and Uncle Jem a huge CD case. I even learned how to play some of the traditional Hanukkah songs on the guitar over the past few months and played some of those while we sang last night. I myself received a pink dress from my parents, a book from my grandma, and a guitar music book from Jem.

Part of the time was spent praying and meditating in front of the candles. I have to say I really like that part. It's nice just to think in quiet for a moment. To thank God for all He has done for all our people and all He has brought us through. (Because he has brought us through a lot, there's no doubt about that.) It's like the calm before the storm that is the celebration part of being thankful for all He has brought us through.

While Hanukkah isn't nearly as big or important as some of the other religious and non religious we celebrate, it's probably my favorite. For one, it takes place in December, and I love December. I also like the menorah. Seeing it all lit up is such a pretty sight. Hanukkah has a great atmosphere in general. Being inside while it snows outside (Living somewhat near Lake Michigan, we get a LOT of snow.) sitting around the table as a family, who doesn't like that? December puts me in my best mood of the year and Hanukkah makes my parents less overbearing. Not to mention Uncle Jem and Grandma are both here.

And Journal, GUESS WHAT? Uncle Jem told me he started looking for jobs closer to Amity Park. It's fairly unlikely that he'll find one as nice as his current job, but he's at least looking! I really hope he can move back...

It almost may be too much to hope for,  
But I hope this hope comes true.  
I wish my dream would happen  
So I can be with you.

Bye,

Sam Manson.

**Friday, January 4th:**

Dear Journal,

I'll have to keep this entry short, because I have to write an essay about what I did over break. This entry is really just me procrastinating writing it... I like English class but I don't like essays. (I don't think anyone does.)

Anyways, it's 2002 now, and during Rosh Hashanah (Jewish New Year) I made a resolution to be not as hypocritical (I didn't make a resolution last year, but now I kinda wish I had just to see how far I've come). Let's see how well this works.

I went back to school today and faced the obvious fact that I'm not the only one who made a resolution. Danny's voice is no longer as quiet as it was (although the difference is pretty subtle) and Tucker is now carrying around his PDA everywhere. I'm glad Danny is coming out of his shell a bit (even if he was already pretty loud and opinionated around me and Tucker, he was still shy around other people), this'll be good for him. But Tucker's resolution... geez. I keep telling him that carrying portable electronics and being on them all the time will _never_ be cool, but he says it's "the way of the future" or some crap. Whatever. If he wants to be obsessed with technology, he can be my guest. I really don't care.

I guess I have to write that essay now.

Wish me luck,

Sam AKA Samantha.

**AN: Again, I'm sorry for the long update. I really didn't have a whole lot of ideas for what Sam could talk about this chapter, and I ended up having to do a lot of research (I've been researching Hanukkah, old mp3 players, oldies music and other stuff for the better part of two hours now.)**

**DID YOU KNOW:**

** was created in 1998?**

**-Youtube was created in 2005?**

**-Hanukkah isn't the biggest Jewish holiday?**

**-You put the candles of a menorah in from right to left, but light them from left to right?**

**-Madonna has done a version of _American Pie_?**

**Oh, and ask your parents if they've heard of _Kryptonite_ by 3 Doors Down. I bet they have!**

**Well, goodbye for now,**

**InsanityIsClarity!**


	21. January 12th

**AN: Hey guys! How's it going? Good? Good. I know I haven't been updating this as soon as I usually do, but I have an excuse: I'm lazy. (Seriously, that's my only reason. I haven't even started school yet.) Anyways, if you want someone to thank for this chapter, thank 13BlueBananas: we've been messaging a lot lately and she is awesome! She's the reason why I'm updating this. Anyways, enjoy!**

**(Also, I started school two weeks ago... I've had half of this chapter written for like three weeks...)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own DP, Dawn dish soap, The Princess Bride, or Kraft Mac and Cheese (actually I do own some Kraft mac and cheese and dawn dish soap, but not the brand lol).**

**Friday, January 12th:**

Dear Journal,

Isn't it amazing how fast a day can change from plain terrible to great? I think so. And you probably don't care, being an inanimate object and all, how my day went, but I'm going to tell you anyways because I just need to tell someone.

It all started when I tried making some Kraft Macaroni and Cheese for dinner. I read the instructions, But it wasn't enough. The instructions don't tell you when to heat something up, or cool something down, or what water looks like when it's boiling. Anyways, it was a flop, and I was frustrated. I kept asking my mom and dad for help, but they kept saying the same thing over and over again: "Read the instructions on the box, _Samantha_."

So, in typical _Sam_ form, I had to go and open my mouth. Long story short: I got grounded from my mp3, TV, internet, and being in my room (yes, my parents grounded me from my bedroom). The good- and this is good by relativity, not actually good- news was that I only got grounded for today. So, since I wasn't able- I'm in my room now, they finally let me back in to go to bed- to go in my room, and I didn't want to be stuck near my parents, I went outside.

You never think, when you're walking around in your yard, that you're going to get poison ivy. The thought doesn't even occur to you. Well, not until you start itching all over the place. That's when your mom hands you a bottle of Dawn dish soap and your dad gives you a hose and they tell you to clean yourself off on the back patio while they themselves go out to eat.

_At least I don't have poison ivy anymore_, my optimistic side tried reasoning. _Too bad I'm soaking wet and freezing cold outside._

One sopping trudge through the house, and new change of clothes (at least they let me into my bedroom to get those) later, I was starting to think my day couldn't get any worse.

And you know what? I, for once, didn't jinx myself. That was actually the turning point of my day. After changing, my hair was still wet, and I don't really like hair dryers (they take too long and they're too loud), so I went to sit outside in the sun, away from poison ivy, on the front stoop. I sat there with my eyes closed for about ten minutes until the sound of running footsteps caught my attention.

Running through my front lawn were Danny Fenton and Tucker Foley.

Apparently Danny's family was having a family movie night, and he and Tucker, whose house he went to first, wanted to invite me to come. I went inside and asked my grandma if I could go.

Let me just say, Grandma Manson is awesome! She said that she remembered Mom and Dad grounding me... from my mp3, TV, internet, and being in my room... but not going to Danny's for a movie. Then she warned me to be back by ten... about when my parents would get home. And, after waving goodbye, I raced across my yard, across the street, and down a few houses to where Danny lived, following him and Tucker.

We ended up, after a debate (Mr. Fenton and Tucker vs Mrs. Fenton and Jazz vs me and Danny), watching _The Princess Bride_. It had enough intelligence for Mrs. Fenton and Jazz, enough action for Mr. Fenton and Tucker, and enough adventure for Danny and me. This was my first time watching the movie, and I admittedly thought it'd be a stupid princess movie when I heard the title. But Danny had seen it, and he told me a basic plot outline, so I gave it a chance.

And surrounded by my two best friends, the rest of the Fenton family, covered in blankets and popcorn Mr. Fenton somehow managed to spill _everywhere_, I realized that today wasn't so bad anymore. In fact, it was actually pretty great!

Later, when I had gotten home, thankfully before my parents, and was in bed, thinking over the day, and writing this entry, I was amazed with how things took almost a complete 180 from where they were before.

From terribly terrible  
To awesomely awesome,  
It's amazing how far  
These things can come  
I thought today would never end  
When it did, I didn't want it to  
Because, somewhere things changed  
And I did better than just surviving through  
I guess today just goes to show  
Whenever things can't get any worse,  
They get better.

That's all I got for today.

Sam Manson.

**AN: This chapter was loosely based off of a terrible day I had two weeks ago. The only real differences are that I almost got my poison ivy by climbing into a ditch after a volleyball, and, instead of watching a movie with friends, my day got better when I played some Just Dance (which I also don't own) with my siblings. Oh, and I washed off the poison ivy inside. Other than that, it was almost the same. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review! (Sorry for the late update.)**

**InsanityIsClarity**


	22. January 18th, 19th, and 22nd

**AN: So, I'm a high schooler now... which means I'm inherently more lazy. So motivate me with some reviews! And enjoy the chapter! Also warning: mentions of death of a character never seen in the show.**

**Oh, and if you review, let me know if you think I should bump this up to a T or not.**

**Thursday, January 18th, 2002:**

Dear Journal,

You probably noticed how I now put the year with the date. I figure, if I'm going to be writing in you long term, and it appears I will be since I've been writing in you since August 2000, I'd want to add the years. I might change it back later, but for now, it's staying like this.

I've found myself avoiding mirrors lately. And by lately, I mean the past three or four days. I just look in the mirror, and see someone I hate. My glasses, my brown eyes, (someday I want to get purple contacts, but I don't think my mom will ever allow that to happen), my entire face just reminds me of various people. I roll my eyes, and my facial expression looks like that popular girl's that I can't ever seem to remember he name. I smirk, and I look like Dash before he starts wailing on some small kid. I smile, and I look like my dad in his always-happy mode. I frown, and I look like my mom when she's disappointed in me.

I might be stretching some of these a bit, but still, it's scary to look at yourself and see something that's not you. Or at least I think it's not me... am I like those people?

I am glad, on the other hand, that my hair looks so much like my grandmother's, and that my eyes (when I'm not rolling them) don't remind me of anyone. It reminds me that I can be like my grandmother (whom I absolutely want to be like), and, more importantly, I can be like myself. It's nice, to not have to think of yourself as a version of someone else.

And I do think I'm a relatively good person. I mean, I don't cuss (and you'd be shocked how many sixth graders in my class do), I try to be generally polite to people I don't really know and adults, and I don't go out of my way to hurt someone. So I think I'm a good person. Relatively.

**Friday, January 19th, 2002:**

Um... I think I just broke a universal law. I'm not even kidding. I just woke up this morning, put part of my hair in a ponytail, and looked in a mirror. And I could see the end of the ponytail, and my hair, but the middle of it had completely disappeared! And the end itself was sticking straight up!

I'm legitimately scared right now. It's not everyday that someone wakes up and breaks the law of gravity.

Help!

**Monday, January 22nd, 2002:**

Dear Journal,

Have you ever gotten the feeling that underneath the world you see is a layer unknown, a layer only seen when a little bit of the mask pulls up and lets you peer through?

Okay, so that was overly poetic, I know. My brain is just so muddled right now... I can't comprehend the news I just heard, and I know that I might never be able to. But let me back up a little and tell you what's happening.

Valerie Gray was always an... okay person, honestly. She rolled with the popular crowd, both her parents made good money, and everyone knew it. She was a cheerleader, a basketball player, and a generally okay person. She'd never been overtly nice to me or my friends, but she was never mean. I consider her to be one of the more decent people in our grade.

It was a running joke- the good kind, the kind that had everyone, including Valerie and the teacher, laughing- that Valerie had the perfect life. Two young, beautiful parents, popularity, intelligence, athleticism, you name it, she has it. That's why I was so shocked when I walked into school this morning to hear whispers in the hall about Valerie. And as I listened more closely: I found out that the whispers were true and what they were about.

Valerie's mom died yesterday.

I... I don't even know what to say about it. No one deserves to lose their parent, especially not someone as... okay... as Valerie. How do you even get over your mom dying? I know I don't have the best relationship with my mom, but I can't imagine just waking up and her not being there.

How do you even move past the loss of a parent? How does one cope? I feel so bad for her.

I feel so bad for her. For Valerie, a girl I always told myself I didn't care about really, and I feel bad for her. I really do. It's... I don't even know how she could possibly be dealing with this.

And somehow... it feels like my world view is shattered.

Somehow I can't wrap my head around  
The fact that something bad happened to you.  
You always seemed sort of invincible-  
Always perfect, always happy,  
A picture of American ideals.  
Someone most people loved  
And everyone at least tolerated.  
You're a genuinely good person,  
You had a truly perfect life.  
But, it looks like life had other plans,  
And I am truly sorry.  
How could something bad happen to you?

Goodnight, Journal,

Sam.

**AN: There was this kid in my class, a kid nicknamed "Perfect Peter" that I never really talked to but never really disliked. And I learned today from my sister, who learned from a friend, that his mom died yesterday. And now, like Sam, my world view, is different. And maybe I shouldn't look at people like they have a perfect life, because no one does.**

**Goodnight,**

**InsanityIsClarity.**


	23. January 25th and 26th

**Thursday January 25th, 2002**

I am not even sure how I can convey my anger properly with words, Journal. I have a, in my humble opinion, pretty good vocabulary for someone only in the sixth grade, but I know no words that accurately portray the sheer _**ANGER!**_ coursing through my veins right now. But I'll try to explain nonetheless.

So there's this new girl, Paulina, who has been here since after winter break. She's the kind of girl who spreads false rumors just to make school more interesting and knows everyone, yet most dislike her. She's popular, but more in the sense where most like what she wears and everyone knows who she is than it is people like who she is.

And you know what she does today in the hallway before lunch? She walks right up to Danny and flirts her little eyelashes and asks him to do her homework for her. And Danny, poor Danny, I could practically see the hearts in his eyes. He stammered out a sure, and stood awestruck as she dropped her books in his hands and sauntered away.

Then Danny goes, "Did you see that? I think she likes me." No, Danny! She doesn't like you, she likes the fact that you're a pushover who can get good grades. But I don't think I can explain that to Danny. And Danny doesn't get it. He doesn't get why I'm so mad about this.

I have seen Danny do homework at lunch, at recess, in class. And it usually it isn't his. Whether by intimidation or guilt-tripping, about a quarter of our grade has gotten Danny to do their homework at some point or the other. I've seen it happen, and it angers me, but I don't have proof and Danny denies it every time. And now freaking Paulina wants Danny to do her homework too!

I CAN'T TAKE IT! I can't take people using my friend, one of my best (only) friends, like that. And I know Tucker can't take it either. And quite frankly, this is the last straw.

_Paulina is going down._

* * *

**Friday, January 26th, 2002**

Journal,

Paulina got Danny to agree to giving back her completed homework during lunch today. So being the good friend I am, before first period this morning, I discretely watched Danny put his combination into his locker. Or at least tried to be discreet. Danny noticed me staring and asked if I was okay, but I told him I was and he left it be. _16-36-30._

Then, during English class, my first period, I got myself excused to use the bathroom, everything going according to plan. I walked through the hallway towards the girls bathroom, but stopped at a certain locker first. Stopped and hastily entered a newly-learned combination. Reached in and found a packet of papers with a girl's pink signature on top.

Finally, I went to the bathroom, and put the packet in the sink and turned the water on full-blast. Waited until the papers were damaged beyond repair, then grabbed a paper towel, wrapped the papers up in the towel, and threw the soggy lump away. Returned to class, and waited for lunch.

When I had pictured lunch, I thought it was going to be a momentous success, a victory for everyone who was tired of being manipulated and used. But during my entire planning period and throughout the execution of said plan, I forgot one thing, one key thing:

Danny wanted this.

Maybe he didn't want to do her homework, but he was obviously happy with the attention she gave him, even if it was the wrong kind of attention, in my opinion. In my opinion.

And when lunch rolled around, and Danny couldn't find the homework he promised Paulina, _guilt_ showed up. At first I really didn't understand it, but within a few nanoseconds I deducted why I felt that way.

Danny is his own person. His own being with his own brain, thoughts, wants, and decision making process. It was his decision to agree to do Paulina's homework (even if it was a STUPID decision he made while he was halfway into lala land), and I really shouldn't have interfered with his choice (even if he shouldn't have made that choice in the first place!).

Despite still believing (and I still do) that I had the right idea even if I didn't go about the right way about it, my guilt increased when Danny asked Tucker and me to help him look for the homework. Danny and Tucker searched and I "searched" for about fifteen minutes before the wicked witch herself showed up.

I'm not even going to include what it was like watching Danny flounder around that over-maked up preteen, or apologize an apologize and apologize, because I feel if I did include that, my guilt would only increase.

So long story short, Danny was sad but resilient from that brief mix up, and Paulina probably won't be asking Danny for homework help anytime soon (something I'd consider more of a victory if it wasn't a loss for one of my best friends). Danny didn't figure out that it was my fault that his work went missing, but he didn't have to: my guilt was big enough for the both of us.

Although, even with my guilt keeping me in check, I still want to ward Paulina off. To keep her away from Danny, and Tucker too while I'm at it. Today did that, but with Danny being the science expert of our grade and Tucker being the history genius (I'm the math wiz), it won't hold her off for long.

I want her to hurt. I want her to hurt for trying to use my friend. I want her to hurt like she's undoubtedly hurt others before. I want to hurt her for what she's done and what she's capable of doing in terms of emotional pain!

Calm down, Sam.

Okay, I'm good. I think I just have to remind myself of one thing:

My happiness is more important than her misery.

Sometimes I get so wrapped up  
In what others deserve  
And how I could go about it  
That I forget about myself  
(for once in my life)  
And my needs and my wants.  
Can I not just focus on being positive  
Instead of always being angry?

So that's not one of my better poems, but whatever. You get the point.

Sam.


	24. February 26th and March 4th

**Tuesday, February 26, 2002**

Hey Journal.

So I haven't written in here in a month. I'm not really sorry about it either. There wasn't too much that happened. We got snow, St. Valentine's Day happened (and the story of St. Valentine is a surprisingly morbid one- why we celebrate love on his death date, I will never know), the anniversary of Uncle Jem and I's last Tuesday night came around, and we got more snow.

Speaking of Uncle Jem, he's still looking for jobs near here, but he's been looking for months, so I don't think it's going to happen.

Last year that news would've crushed me. But this year not so much so. I still miss him a lot, don't get me wrong, but Tuesday nights with Grandma Mason are really fun too, in their own way. At one time I would've thought that combining the two- going out with Grandma and Jem- would double the awesomeness, but now I think it would just be really awkward.

Really awkward, or worse- Uncle Jem and Grandma would start having an "adult" conversation and I'd be forgotten.

I think I'll just take things the way they are now.

I know I've written a poem before (I just flipped back a few pages and read it) about moving on, but I just kinda want to say something.

I knew moving on would mean being content with where I'm at. But it's only now that I'm realizing that with moving on, I'm learning I never really needed Jem as much as I thought I did. I still miss him, but I don't need him.

Maybe I never needed him.

No, wait that isn't entirely true. He helped me through one of the loneliest times of my life. I will never be able to repay him for that. I may not need him anymore, but I still need the peace he created me with every Tuesday night.

Grandma Manson is different than Uncle Jem, naturally. When she first moved in, she was really sad. Her husband of 30 some years was dead. It was understandable.

It was understandable, but I'm really glad she's gotten better. It was slow going at first, but she's much happier now, I can tell.

It's scary to see someone you love as sad as Grandma was.

There hasn't been anything to write about for the past month, and there still isn't.

Sam.

P.S. My ponytail still defies gravity, and I've worn it quite a bit, but aside from a few offhanded comments, no one has really noticed.

P.P.S. HOW DO PEOPLE NOT NOTICE SOMETHING LIKE THAT? (Oh well, I'm coming to the conclusion that a lot of the residents of Amity Park aren't too smart in the head.)

**Friday, March 4, 2002**

Dear Journal,

I thought being an apathetic Goth would be fairly easy, considering I'm a very unemotional person.

It's not easy.

And I think it's mostly because I made the decision to become emotionless_ before_ I met Danny and Tucker.

_Danny..._

OH GREAT. Italics, and three dots following his name.

This is just in my mind, just the product of culture constantly telling me that romance is a good thing. I don't seriously have a crush on Danny Fenton, not on my best friend. No.

No, no, no, no, no. _Yes..._ NO! I'm not even sure what a crush is, how can I possibly have one? Where even is the line between friendship and crush-ship? But then, wouldn't crush-ship be the mutual crushing of two people on each other? It doesn't matter! I don't have a crush on my best friend, I just haven't had a friend in a while so I don't remember how you're supposed to feel towards a friend.

(But I don't feel this way about Tucker.)

Okay, so I've been forced to watch enough teenage drama movies with my mom to know that I'm in denial. And I'm not going to waste all of your time, Journal, on arguing with myself over whether I have a STUPID crush or not.

Because I do have a stupid crush. But I WON'T let it make me stupid. I'm not going to giggle or flirt or blush around him. That'd be downright cliché and idiotic.

So what do I do? _Nothing._ Sounds like a plan, Subconscious!

New thoughts in my head  
Make my smile and shake my head.  
Oh what a lovely thing young love is...  
Wait what?!  
Who said anything about love?  
This is just a crush!  
I don't quite love anyone yet...  
And I'm still the same person.  
Nothing has changed,  
Just my feelings a little bit...  
But I'm still the same!  
Still the same Sam  
Still the same as I always am.

(Okay that last line was cheesy.)

Sam.

**AN: So this chapter was a bit short (Sorry, not sorry). REVIEW! Do it... dooooo iiiiittttt. JUST DO IT!**


	25. March 10th, 16th, and 21st

**Thursday March 10th, 2002**

Dear Reader,

I bet you thought I was so far gone that I believed I was talking to a notebook, one that could hear and understand me at that. I'm pleased to reassure you that that is not the case, instead I know that I'm writing to You, whether You are my parents, Danny, Tucker, or someone else entirely. Yes, I know you're there, and I know you're reading this.

And next time I write in here, I'll once again be "talking" to Journal, but for right now I want to talk to You, and not the plural you either, the singular you, where you know I'm addressing you, [insert your name here].

It's rather nice to have broken the fourth wall, but now that I'm talking to You, I really don't know what to say. I mean, I probably don't know much about You, excepting if You are Danny, or Tucker, or my parents (in which case, STOP READING!), and You know a lot about me, that is if you haven't just been skimming through here.

So since We can't really talk about You, I guess I must talk about me, as selfish as that sounds. (Although, whoever You are, feel free to write me up a note and slip it in the pages, I will respond, and hopefully You'll get it, since You have seemed to find my hiding place.)

It might be weird to address my reader, but someones reading this, so I might as well. For all I know You could be older me. (And if so, PLEASE leave that letter- I really want to know how We turned out!)

Great, now I'm breaking the space-time continuum. Whatever, I'll just put it on the list of universal laws I've broken, right after gravity. (Still haven't figured out what's up with my ponytail, and still no one acknowledges it...)

Seeing how I won't be talking to you again unless you leave me a letter (and please do, future me or not, I don't want to lose You forever), I guess this is goodbye.

Bye, [insert your name here],

Sam.

**Wednesday, March 16th, 2002**

Dear Journal,

So there was this girl who committed suicide a few states over because of bullying. It's all over the news.

I don't understand why, to be honest. I know I've written about why I don't understand self harm and suicide before, but this time, it's something new I don't understand.

I don't understand why she claimed that no one was there for her.

I mean I understand that there are periods in your life when you go through feeling alone (heck that lasted years of my life), and maybe she just went through a long period of feeling that way... okay, so I guess I do understand that part.

What I don't understand, I think, is why no one _was_ there for her. There had to have been someone right? I guess I'm just trying to overcome my rapidly-diminishing optimism, but I don't understand why she had no one. Even if they weren't that close or were gone for a while, someone had to care about her. Right?

**Monday March 21st, 2002**

Dear Journal,

Do you maybe have any tips for controlling anger? Please? Cause I am so **ANGRY!** right now.

It started out as a good day, great even. I was walking out of my house to go to school and Danny was riding by on his scooter and he offered me a ride. So instead of walking, I got to ride practically hugging Danny to school. It felt awkward at the time, but now I can't help but look back on the moment in fondness. He and I walked into school together and to our lockers, which were pretty close (considering all the sixth grade lockers were in one wing), and walked over to Tucker's to meet up with him.

What we found- or rather heard- still enrages me. And probably won't stop until I get revenge.

I seem to be needing revenge a lot lately, but this time it's different.

Tucker didn't ask to be trapped in his locker overnight.

Usually we walk a few blocks out of school together before Tucker turns onto his road. But last night he had to stay after to use the computer lab to write out an essay (I would've told him he could use a computer at my house, but I don't want them knowing I'm rich yet...), so Danny and I left without him.

Although I know we probably couldn't have stopped the four seventh graders from shoving him and locking him into his locker, I still feel a little guilty for leaving him behind.

And although I know we probably couldn't have stopped the four seventh graders from shoving him and locking him into his locker, I do know I can stop them from shoving him into his locker again.

I just have to figure out how three of the smallest sixth graders are going to take down three of the largest seventh graders.

Wish me luck please  
I'm thinking I'll be needing it  
Wish me luck please  
As the odds are against me  
Wish me luck please  
And maybe some advice  
I'm without a plan,  
But I've got fire in my eyes.

Sam.

**AN: Middle school readers: No, you probably won't get shoved into a locker. The lockers they give you in middle school are so tiny, and added with all the books they'll give you, you probably won't fit. Rest assured!**


	26. March 22nd and 28th and April 1st

**Tuesday March 22, 2002**

Journal,

So revenge plans have been made. I was just thinking about what could take down a group of seventh graders (because face it, Danny, Tucker, and I weren't going to cut it) and it came to me:

A group of eighth graders.

There arose a question: how does a sixth grader enlist the help of multiple eighth graders? Mostly the eighth graders just leave us alone. They don't really care about us, besides occasionally to use us as pawns in various drama crap, and that's probably a good thing, because while we are pawns, we aren't players like the seventh graders, which is even worse. My theory is that the eighth graders took out all the anger at what the now-ninth-graders did to them when they were sixth graders on the now-seventh-graders when they were seventh graders.

I'm getting off track. It looked like I was going to have to find and befriend an eighth grader then get them to garner their friend's support for my cause. Complicated, I know, but there was no better plan.

Since I only really had ever talked to one eighth grader before, I turned to someone I trusted would at least try to help.

Jazz Fenton.

Yup, Danny's older sister. She may be kind of a nerd, but she's the cool kind, the kind who has friends because, to be honest, she's a huge people pleaser, and she's good at it too. She wasn't too hard to find, I just asked Danny where her locker was (he came along too), found her debating what was in the cafeteria food with one of her friends, and asked to talk to her alone.

She was really nice, just like I knew she'd be, and was properly outraged when we explained the situation with her. She agreed that we had to do something, but we still had to figure out what. I suggested we get a group of eighth graders and shove the four bullies in their lockers overnight. Danny voted to beat them up. Jazz put out that we just threaten them and mess with their psyche. We ruled out Danny's idea first because we really didn't want to get in trouble for fighting on school grounds. My idea was gone next because apparently it was _too extreme. We can't leave four kids locked in their lockers overnight!_

So we gathered four of Jazz's friends- teacher's pet Tom (who was also Tucker's cousin), creepy Sara, ridiculously tall Max, and inappropriate jokes Kara (all of whom were geniuses in their own respect)- and went to the seventh grade hallway to hunt some jerks.

After we found them, Jazz tapped the leader on his shoulder, and all four turned around after.

I'm going to quote the following conversation, because it was GREAT.

Me: "Listen up: you hurt my friend-"

Danny: "My best friend."

Jazz: "Practically my second brother."

Tom: "My cousin."

Kara: "That weird sixth **grader** in my computer software class."

Me: "And now you are going to pay."

Gulps from the four boys.

Sara: "Chill, we aren't going to beat you up."

Max, under his breath: "At least not right now."

Jazz: "We are going to get our revenge. But you will never see it coming."

Danny: "It could be tomorrow in your locker, Friday after school, or anything anywhere."

Sara, creepily: "Watch your back."

Me: "And stay away from Tucker Foley."

I think we successfully scared the crap out of them.

**Monday, March 28th, 2002**

Dear You:

I don't think it's really cool you found my journal, but thanks for telling me, I guess. I can't believe what You wrote... didn't think that's what someone's reaction would be after reading all my thoughts and feelings for a year and a half, but whatever. Since you're either an eighth grader or a seventh grader, I'm not sure how you figured out my locker combo, but you didn't take any of my stuff, so I don't think I'll have to see about getting it changed. Even so, after I leave this in my locker for a day for you to read, I'm re-hiding this. Congrats on finding it though!

Sam.

PS: Thanks- I'm glad you like my poems! You should try writing one sometime, it's fun!

**Friday, April 1st, 2002**

Dear Journal,

There are things I will never pen down in here. Secrets I won't preserve, thoughts paper wouldn't accept, worries that don't fit into words.

But since I can't write any of that, I'll write what I can write. And right now, I've got poems!

I was scared  
I'll admit  
In middle school,  
I didn't think I'd fit.  
But in reality  
It's not so bad  
Anyone really  
Can get along fine  
With a sense of humor  
And friends by your side.

I wasn't lying, I was scare for middle school. But it's not so bad... especially since the seventh graders have pretty much been leaving Danny, Tucker, and me alone since the incident with Jazz and her friends. They weren't particularly bothering us before, but now they won't dare cross us:). Classes aren't hard, but then they never had been for me. And I just like laughing- at myself, at my friends, at everyone. It's really underrated.

On the Goth front, I still can't muster apathy. I don't mind though- being Goth is all about being independent and not molding to society, right? Well I'm not molding to society's idea that Goths have to be apathetic. I'm going to be Goth, but not at the cost of me.

I'm rebelling against the rebels  
And rebelling against society  
I'm rebelling against the idea  
That I should be anyone but me.

Profoundly unprofound,

Sam.

**AN: That was that... reviews make new chapters come faster!**

**InsanityIsClarity**


	27. June 7th-11th

**Friday, June 7th, 2002:**

Journal,

Sorry I haven't written in you recently... I've been thinking. A lot.

I wonder, is this who I really am? I see all the bad things I do and I wonder if I'm really this much of a jerk. Or am I just wearing a mask? Sometimes I purposely make my opinions and actions over exaggerated... saying things I kind of mean but with much more intensity than I actually do. But I'm not faking... just making myself louder.

But then I wonder if me being loud is a good thing. Maybe the things I'm saying aren't good things and maybe I should just shut up.

Shutting up is hard.

So I keep talking and hope I'm not as much of a jerk as I sometimes can be.

It's worth it sometimes, the doubt and over exaggeration, when I make someone laugh. Like today in science I made a few loud jokes about how I'm shocked Paulina and Dash haven't started sucking face yet. I know that it was a mean comment, and probably was more than a little insensitive to Danny, but then... Danny laughed. As well as Tucker and the few people around us (Valerie, Karen, Jake, and a few others) who heard me tell the joke.

Insensitive? Yes. Mean? Yes. Funny? Yes. Made other people smile? Yes.

Worth it? I don't know.

In other news, I kind of rage quit a computer game today... big time. I got so mad (the player I was playing against IS A FREAKING DIRTY CHEATER THAT SHOULD GO EAT HIS FLIPPING SHORTS!), I punched my computer screen. It fell to the hardwood floor and the fragile glass cracked.

I swear every time I think there's no way I could be more stupid, I get more stupid.

Ugh. My computer's broken, and now I have to come up with a plan to either hide it from my parents or tell them about it... not going to be fun.

On the bright side, the computer still works. The screen glitched a few times after I turned it back on the first few times, but now I'm good. My laptop is working, but still I look at the cracks on the screen and wonder:

Is this what the fourth wall is like? You never really notice it's there, dividing reality from fiction, until it cracks a little and the barrier is oh so noticeable. If it cracks some more, will it break entirely? If I drop my computer again and the whole glass shatters and falls apart, will everything on my computer escape into reality? Can't say I'm not tempted to find out.

Sam.

**Saturday, June 8th, 2002:**

Hey Journal.

So yeah, I'm in one of _those_ moods. You know, the mood where you're just kind of tired and don't feel like talking? Where you just kind of comply with everything cause you don't feel like arguing? It's the mood you know will pass by the next morning, but boy do you feel like crap when you do experience it.

My own experience with the mood today involved doubting whether my opinion even matters, whether any opinion even matters, and whether, even if they do matter, people even care.

Not fun.

I wonder if this is who I am. If I'm the truest version of myself. If I can't completely forget my biases, the least I can do is not care enough to put on my masks of over exaggeration.

But then... I'm not a quiet, demure person. I'm loud, and opinionated, and mean, most of the time. Just because sometimes I just kind of give up, doesn't mean that that's the real version of me. It's just me being tired. But if I'm not as much of a jerk as other people think, and I'm not quiet and polite... what am I? What version of myself is real?

Is there even a real version of myself, or just a bunch of different versions of myself that all add up? But they are never all in the same place, so no one has seen the "real" me?

I don't know.

Sam.

**Sunday, June 9th, 2002:**

Guess what?

I figured it out.

I was in the car today, and we had this calm music playing, and I was just looking out the window at the pretty sky and it hit me: this is the real me. I'm not loud and insensitive at my core. I'm not quiet and sad either. I'm calm. I stop to look at skies, and listen to the lyrics in music. I take whatever life gives me, and try to make it funny. I try to be helpful in whatever way I can.

But wait... is that who I really am? I want to say yes, as the person I just described sounds amazing, and yet, I can't say that's quite who I am. Yes, I can be calm and peaceful and helpful, but that's not who I am all the time, or even most of the time.

So that leaves the question: If I'm not loud and annoying, and I'm not sad and quiet, and I'm not calm and helpful, who am I?

Help me figure it out!

Sam.

**Monday, June 10th, 2002:**

Dear Journal,

Looking back on this I realize, I'm not loud and annoying or sad and quiet or calm and helpful... I'm all three! Just not always at the same time. I am all at different times, and sometimes traits combine. I am all and more too.

I've made a pact to accept myself.

Sometimes I'm loud and annoying, and sometimes I'm quiet and sad and sometimes I'm calm and helpful. And sometimes I'm loud and helpful or quiet and calm or annoying and sad. And sometimes I'm cheerful and quiet and sometimes I'm annoyed and loud and sometimes... I'm a lot of things. But most of all, I'm me.

I'm done going between thinking I"m a good person, and thinking I'm a terrible person at the drop of a hat. I'm just a person.

I'm just...

Sam.

**Tuesday June 11th, 2002:**

Oh man oh man oh man. I still haven't figured out how to tell my parents about my computer, and I accidentally bumped the bottom of my desk today and...

The cracks are spreading.

* * *

**AN: Hey look what decided to show its lovely visage in my mind... A PLOT! Stay tuned and review please!**

** This chapter is dedicated to me and my new (and now newly broken) laptop. Wish me luck either hiding it from or telling my mom about it...**


	28. June 18-20th

**AN: Look who's back!**

**Tuesday, June 18th:**

It's been exactly a week since I've written in here, and I've read a novel in that time. Specifically, Lord of the Flies. I'm not going to spoil anything, (Can books read? Ah well, I'm not even sure if I'm addressing Journal or The Reader anymore...) but it was pretty good. It might seem crazy that I'm reading over break, but the book looked so good! Lots of kids stranded on an island... I knew some were going to die and some were going to lose their morals, but getting attached to them anyways made the heartbreak all that more FUN!

I wonder what I'd do if I was stranded on an island with little hope of rescue and a snotty choir "director" who thinks MEAT! and nothing else. I doubt I'd survive.

The book does bring up a question in my mind, however. The value of human life. I've contemplated it before, but now I'm wondering something new. People always say killing is wrong, even if the one you're killing isn't exactly innocent. A life for a life isn't right. But what about a life for lives? If killing one could save three, save three hundred, save three million, would it be right?

Honestly, I say yes. And so, yes, I think the death penalty is the right punishment for anyone who has killed more than one person. But... what about injuries? What if they are actually innocent and framed? What if it was an accident? Do they still deserve death? I don't know.

An eye for an eye,  
They say isn't right.  
But what of an eye  
For two or three or five?  
Will your morals hold fast then,  
When killing one can save ten?  
Is it ever right for someone to die?  
Are their morals wrong or are mine?

**Wednesday, June 19th:**

Okay. I'm an idiot.

I was just vacuuming my room, when I hit my desk. My computer fell, and all the glass flew off.

Did I just break the fourth wall? Nah. Don't be an idiot, Sam. Even if there is a fourth wall, it certainly wouldn't be my computer screen. It'd probably be across from the Fentons', you know, that empty lot that only really serves to give a view of their kooky house.

Man, but if I did break the fourth wall... it does not bode well. I was doing some Goth research before I started vacuuming, and when the screen shattered, the article on it was about something I absolutely do not want coming into our world.

Ghosts.

I really hope that- NO! Don't be ridiculous, Sam. Even if ghosts do exist, they aren't going to come to our world through my computer screen. Enough of this!

New topic.

I'm beginning to suspect some little thing inside me is just a bit broken. Danny invited me- and Tucker- to his house to watch another movie, and I realize that even if this isn't the first time (more like the fourth or fifth) getting invited over, it's still weird. Maybe it's from all the years I spent alone with hardly any friends, but someone wanting me to be around them... it's actually a bit hard to believe. And my paranoia kicks in... what if they're just taking pity on me, what if they did like me and don't anymore and don't want to be mean... STOP!

You know what? I'm thinking way too into way too many things today. I'll talk to you later.

**Thursday, June 20th:**

Journal,

I'm still flipping out, an hour and a half later. Like I said, I went over to Danny's. And he was on the verge of flipping out too.

His parents made a huge breakthrough on proving ghosts actually exist. Their biggest breakthrough since they tried making a portal in college, apparently. I just can't believe it. From what I've heard, they've got their ghost portal up so much that they can detect "ecto energy" near it, even if it's not opening up yet.

Jazz said that no one really knew for sure if ghosts existed before then. She said she herself doesn't believe, but, still... right after my computer breaks, this happens?

Okay, I reread that and I really sound stupid, don't I? Of course it's a coincidence, there can't possibly be a connection between my laptop breaking while a ghost article is displayed and this new breakthrough. Can there?

The logical art of my brain says no, and yet, part of me hopes this is true. That ghosts' existence is my doing. Because that means I'm no longer plain boring old Sam no one notices, but the enigmatic, cataclysmic Sam who unleashed ghosts upon this world.

Well there are no ghosts yet, but what if I did unleash them? I mean, yeah, I'd be pretty notorious, at least in my own mind, but I'll have leashed ghosts on humanity, then someone would have to deal with them, and it'd likely end up being Danny's parents, and while his mom is competent his dad is less than so, and oh my gosh I just doomed the world.

RIP World,

Sam.

**AN: Sorry for the late update. Seriously just trying to get some general motivation for life. Review! **

**InsanityIsClarity**


	29. July 1st

**AN: This is the final chapter... I'll let Sam explain.**

**Monday, July 1st, 2002.**

Dear Journal,

I think this is the last note I'll write in a while. Maybe I'll come back and write more later... maybe not. It's just that, there's so many interesting things going on in life, but I don't know how to put them down on paper. How can I express my joy, my wonder, with this medium?

Life just is really good right now, and while I might have things to write, I just don't feel like writing them. I have no motivation, and there is almost no point. I've been so afraid of forgetting, I've forgotten that it isn't about remembering the past. It's about living the present. And if something is really that important, I will remember it regardless of whether or not I've written it down or not.

So here, in this journal, has been my life, for about the past 22 months. These have been the events I've bothered to write down. There's been more to this past 2 years than just what's in here, but that's for me to know.

You need to live your own life, and I need to live mine. I want to live in the moment from now on, not spend it trying to capture the moment. So maybe I'll change my mind and write more later, maybe I won't. Either way, I'll be okay.

Goodbye,

Samantha A. "Sam" Manson

**Well Sam said it. I'm sorry guys, but I'm just not into this anymore.**

**Thanks for reading, those who've just read this chapter, and those who've read all, I appreciate it! Special thanks to everyone who reviewed! And a SUPER SPECIAL THANKS to MUNEY73 for reviewing every single chapter! Seriously, this story relied on you; it would've ended a long time before if not for your reviews. Seriously, you are awesome, and I'm sorry this ended so early.**


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